The Devil’s Due Read online

  “Aye,” Daisy chuckled. “Just call me Mrs. ‘Elijah’ Wilkes.”

  “If that was the method that the prophet Elijah used for raising the dead, then oblivion might be preferable,” Duncan complained, stowing the name ‘Wilkes’ in his memory.

  “Aw, now milord, it weren’t so bad. I was accounted a fair kisser in my day,” Daisy said, drawing back in mock offense. “Just wasn’t what you was hopin’ for, I expect.”

  A strangled sound issued from Duncan’s throat.

  “Are you still in pain?” Kate asked, trying unsuccessfully to stifle her laughter as she rose and dusted her skirts. “I am sure that Daisy could be persuaded to continue with her restorative efforts.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Duncan said, holding out his hand to her.

  Kate hesitated, then grasped it, helping him get up, but once he was on his feet, he did not relinquish his hold.

  “You could have been killed,” Duncan said, his voice deep with emotion.

  “Aye, he’s right, he is,” Daisy agreed, her chuckles ceasing. “Time and again, I’ve told her, that a bit of water ain’t worth riskin’ life and limb for, but does she listen to me, I ask you?”

  “Of course not,” Duncan said, matching her indignation. “Kate never listens.”

  “But I was not hurt,” Kate said, glaring at her treacherous companion.

  “Ah yes, miracles.” Duncan shook his head. “Do not gamble on good fortune again. I may not be there to break your fall next time. I do not wish to see you on the roof anymore.”

  “Then I hope that you do not snore, Milord,” Kate retorted, attempting to tug her hand away. “For if you open your mouth in a rainstorm, you might drown with the state these slates are in.”

  “No, I’ve been told on Fred’s excellent authority that I am not destined for drowning.” Duncan kept her wrist imprisoned firmly. “Now, I want your promise Kate, that I will not see you up on that roof again.”

  Kate looked at Daisy, but saw that there would be no support coming from that quarter. The older woman was nodding in agreement. “Very well,” Kate said reluctantly. “You shall not see me on that roof anymore.” Because I will make damned sure you are nowhere near when I do my repairs, she added silently. “Now will you let me go?”

  “No,” Duncan said, smiling at the careful wording that had made her intent more than transparent. “Until you give me your promise that you will do no more roofing work.”

  “I already have,” Kate complained.

  “Then it will make little difference if you will repeat after me. ‘I solemnly swear . . .” He inclined his head, waiting.

  “This is incredibly foolish!” Kate said. “Need I remind you of your oath? Unhand me, sir!”

  “It was you who gave me your hand, Kate,” he reminded her. “And I’ll not give it back until I have your word that I will not have to spend my days fearing that you will tumble on me unawares.”

  “Oh, very well,” Kate grumbled. “I solemnly swear. . .”

  “Never to set foot on the roofs of Castle Eilean Kirk.”

  “Never to set foot on the roofs of Castle Eilean Kirk,” she parroted, concealing a secret smile.

  “Nor its outbuildings,” he concluded.

  Damn! “Nor its outbuildings,” Kate repeated reluctantly.

  “Well done, that was, Milord,” Daisy said, picking up his fallen shirt from the ground and shaking it before handing it to him. “I tell you it fair put my heart in my throat every time she climbed that ladder.”

  “I can well imagine,” Duncan said.

  “May I have my hand back?” Kate asked in a small voice. “There is a great deal to do before the foul weather hits.”

  Just as Duncan was relinquished his hold, Anne burst forth from the bushes, her eyes wild with fright.

  “She must have heard me scream, poor lamb,” Daisy said. “‘Tis all right, child. There is naught to fear.”

  Kate bent and gathered the child in her arms, knowing full well how Anne must have viewed the scene. This was not the first time that she had seen someone laying an unwelcome hand on her mother, and it would not be prudent to let any misunderstanding linger. “Anne, there is naught amiss,” Kate crooned softly. “Mamma is fine and nothing can harm you.”

  Anne looked accusingly toward Duncan.

  “Perhaps, I had best leave,” Duncan said.

  “No, Milord, please stay,” Kate said. “Lord MacLean saved my life, Anne. He caught me when I fell from the roof.”

  “Aye, ‘tis true, Annie my lamb. Look at his poor back,” Daisy pointed, clucking her tongue, “‘tis all scraped and bruised from when your Mamma fell upon him. If you’ll come into the kitchen, Milord, I can be puttin’ some of my salve on it. It’ll be stingin’ somethin’ awful, less we do.”

  Anne stared, looking from Daisy to her mother and finally to Duncan.

  “I shall surrender to your ministrations,” Duncan said, stirring uncomfortably beneath the little girl’s gaze.

  Anne tugged her mother’s sleeve, signifying that she wished to get down.

  Duncan stood rooted as Kate set the child upon the ground and Anne walked toward him. The little girl looked up, her eyes asking him a question that he could not quite understand. When he looked at the two women for an explanation, they provided no guidance. From their expressions, it was obvious that they were just as puzzled as he was. Then, without warning, she threw her arms around his knees, giving him a fierce hug that nearly knocked him from his feet. Then, she turned and ran back into the woods, the dog barking at her heels.

  Duncan’s sight blurred, transforming the child into a flash of red running amidst a watery haze of brown and green. A strange warmth spread within him, like the first rays touching the winter snows, gentle with the promise of spring. Tears. He could not recall the last time he had shed one.

  “She were sayin’ ‘thank you,’ Milord,” Daisy said, her voice quavering.

  “I know,” Duncan said, turning away to hide behind a mask of gruffness. “I will collect that salve later. I er. . . have to see to my horse.” He moved stiffly, his body still sore from the impact. Lucky it was, that Kate was such a wee thing, so small, so very fragile. If he had not been below to break her fall . . . He shook his head, not daring to think of the possible consequences, as he strode down the path, hoping that his obscured vision would not cause him to stumble.

  Only Kate saw the glisten of the single tear that ran down his cheek. Indeed, she felt like weeping herself. Before, Anne had been such a friendly little girl, so sweet and charming. Even the frosty Mrs. Drummond-Burrel had warmed sufficiently to urge Anne to sit upon her lap during one afternoon call. Now, however, even the merest contact, the chance jostling of a crowd was sufficient to make the child flinch. When a carter, who had been kind enough to give them a ride from Dover, had patted Anne upon the head, she had cringed before bursting into tears. Perhaps Duncan MacLean was a miracle if Anne could willingly trust him sufficiently to touch him. Whatever the consequences to Kate herself, she was now certain that she had made the right decision, for Anne’s sake. Perhaps Anne could learn to put her faith in people again and maybe then, she would speak once more.

  . . .

  “We’ll be needin’ to get the livestock into shelter,” Daisy said, glancing anxiously at the sky. “Glad his lordship made the coops tight again, or we’d be playin’ at Noah’s ark once more.”

  “There is yet time before the storm breaks,” Kate said absently, watching as Duncan retreated around the bend. He was walking awkwardly, stirring her to guilt. What if he had truly been hurt? She should have been expressing her thanks, but instead, she had made light of him. Perhaps he was still in pain? She made her decision. “I will assist his Lordship first, Daisy. He might be injured and not yet realize it.”

  “Aye,” Daisy grumbled, drily, “and the fall just might have addled your wits, milady.”

  Kate lifted her chin, not deigning to reply to that blatant bit of disrespect.

 
; “Now don’t you be looking at old Daisy like that,” she chided. “You know yourself that that man is trouble on two feet.”

  “He saved my life,” Kate said. “Or do you forget that so quickly.”

  “Aye, he did, most like,” Daisy admitted. “And I’m grateful for it.”

  “So am I, and was it not you who taught me that I ought to always express proper appreciation?” Kate asked.

  “Aye,” Daisy admitted grudgingly.

  “Then that is what I intend to do,” Kate said, turning to set off down the path. “And Daisy,” she added, casting a look over her shoulder. “You must stop addressing me as milady. We will have to leave here eventually and it is too much of a risk.”

  “Risk,” Daisy muttered glumly at her mistress’ retreating figure. “You’re a fine one to talk of risks, milady.”

  Chapter 8

  Duncan heard her before he saw her. The hasty tread was far too light to be Daisy’s footfall, but too purposeful for a child. For a moment, he contemplated flight, eying a nearby tree and wondering whether his tree-climbing skills had survived the years as well as Kate’s had. Facing her was not something he wished to do, not now when he was too confused to think clearly.

  The girl . . . Anne . . .Duncan had never considered himself a man who was naturally at ease with children. The little ones had never flocked at his knee. Yet, silent though this child might be, she spoke to him in her own strange way. She was obviously intelligent, understanding all that was said. Those wide green eyes were impossibly expressive and way too wise for a child who could be no more than seven. He could feel that terrible sadness, understand it with an aching clarity. She reminded him of those somber, brown-eyed urchins of Lisbon, the war-tossed orphans who would sell their souls for the price of a herring. The tossing screeching wild fury of last night haunted him because those screams had been the reverberations of his own torment. And now, the girl had spoken again, the pressure of those small arms had said as much as the look on that luminous face. Trust. A wondrous gift from such a child, both favor and burden.

  Had Anne always been thus, he wondered, trying to piece together the puzzle? Or was her present state the result of that “hurt,” that her mother had obliquely referred to. What terrible calamity could befall one so young that it would haunt her hours of sleep to the point of screaming torment?

  “Duncan, please wait.”

  The very sound of that breathless call seemed to paralyze him in his place. Duncan schooled his face into a stony expression; his hand rising to wipe away the last trace of tears. But while his countenance was the picture of composure, inside he was a mass of befuddlement. What confounded imp had caused him to behave with such incredible stupidity? Even though he had known Kate for less than a few weeks, every intuition had warned him that he would have to move carefully with a woman like her.

  Yet, he had gone against instinct, resorting to a callow ploy that was not even worthy of an unshaven lad? Any respect that he might have hoped to engender had been squandered by that shabby attempt at trickery. For a kiss, a mere touch of the lips.

  Was that the measure then, of his desperation? How the mighty had fallen! The Mad MacLean’s exploits with the ladies had acquired the patina of legend. If only Marcus, Lord Steele, could see him now. No doubt he would consider Duncan’s present state of decline the height of poetic justice.

  Marcus. Duncan had not thought of him all too much lately. If only Marcus had not taken leave to go back to England, perhaps he would have stopped Duncan’s reckless charge into Vesey’s den. But there was little use in wishing the past undone.

  “Duncan?”

  Her face was flushed. It was obvious that she too, was embarrassed by what had just occurred. Desperately, Duncan cast about for something to say. Luckily, his years among the English had provided him with the perfect expedient, the weather. He cast his gaze to the sky. “It will be a heavy storm when it comes, Kate.” Duncan said, retreating behind the social bulwark of formality.

  She made her own slow survey of the heavens. “Surely it will not reach us before evening. There is plenty of time to treat your back. Why don’t you go back to the kitchen and let Daisy put on the salve. It is a most excellent concoction, I assure you. And the lavender smell is quite soothing.”

  So much for the storm as an excuse, Duncan thought, surprised that her evaluation of the approaching blow coincided so nearly with his. He had never met a woman before with an ounce of weather sense, but then again, he had never met a female before who, within the space of less than a month, had threatened him both at knifepoint and at the business end of a musket, ridden an avowed killer mount, scaled rooftops with utter fearlessness and looked absolutely enchanting in breeches. “I can do without your Daisy’s ministrations,” Duncan declared, seeking refuge in curtness.

  But Kate was not to be put off. “If you wish, I will chaperone,” she offered solemnly. “That way you need not fear for your virtue.”

  Although her face was entirely straight, there was the definite glint of a twinkle in her eye and the hint of laughter in her voice could not be denied. Duncan searched her countenance carefully, but there was not a trace of the pity or the contempt that he had feared. In fact, she seemed amused.

  Contrarily, her reaction angered him. How dare she make him into an object of fun! No woman had ever before laughed at Duncan MacLean’s reputation with the fair sex. But when he looked into her eyes, he realized that her laughter was an invitation, not to make mockery of him, but to share in a moment of release, an opportunity to ease the burden of fear that had been building within him. When had he lost the capacity to distinguish between derision and gentle teasing? He did not know when his frown had turned to a smile, but it had. Nor did he anticipate the explosion that was building inside until it finally happened.

  It was like a rusty hinge, at first, protesting after long disuse as a forgotten door opened. How long had it been since he had laughed? Beyond recent memory, certainly; there had been precious little occasion for humor in La Purgatoire. But this . . . this was unlike anything that he had ever experienced, this shared sense of the ridiculous that was like an invisible cord, twining them together. Perhaps it might have happened before but never could he recall enjoying a genuinely humorous moment with a woman.

  Once the gate was opened, there was no closing it again. The chuckle grew to a guffaw that rose from his gut.

  “If only you could have seen your face,” Kate said, shaking with laughter herself.

  “The . . . wh. . . whiskers . . . were the first shock,” Duncan stammered between gales of merriment. “But it was the g . . .garlic that nearly . . . did me in.”

  “Daisy is rather fond of garlic,” Kate admitted in gasps. “She . . . claims it has medicinal value. Perhaps that is what brought you back . . . from near death.”

  “Nearly . . . killed me, is more like it,” Duncan said, putting a hand on his aching side. “I vow, a minute more, and it would have been the end of me.”

  “It was as much as you deserved,” Kate pointed out, finally catching her breath. “You had me truly frightened, you know. Luckily, Daisy saw through your cozening tactics.”

  “Aye, just my luck,” Duncan said wryly. She had been frightened for him? It was a novel occurrence, to have someone other than Fred who might be genuinely concerned on his behalf. “Instead of comfort in my pain, I am nearly asphyxiated by onions and garlic and almost scratched to death by stubble that would put a guardsman to shame.”

  “I would have you know that Daisy was considered a rather handsome woman. She was quite the object of courtship in our army days.”

  “A regular femme fatale,” Duncan said rubbing his lips meaningfully.

  At this, Kate fell into another fit of giggling. “For shame, Duncan,” She finally choked out. “With such outright deception, what did you expect?”

  “‘Expect’ is too definite a word. ‘Hope’ is more the like of it and what I was hoping for was you,” Duncan admitted with
a crooked smile. “You see, I merely wished to ascertain if my memory was damaged by the fall. Surely, no lips could feel as soft as yours, Kate. And I knew of a certainty that no woman could possibly taste of heather and sunshine. But alas, I had no opportunity to compare reality to memory.”

  “Is blarney the same in the Scottish dialect of Gaelic as it is in the Irish?” she asked, trying to dismiss the unbidden recollections of that first night. Memories of fear and forbidden longing had melded in that fraction of a moment when she had lost herself in his kiss.

  Did passion have a taste? Was there a flavor to yearning? Or was it just the potent mingling of strong emotion, darkness and imagination that lingered on her tongue, evoking those few seconds when her every sense had been roused? “You are a complete hand, Duncan,” Kate said, trying to cover her confusion. She wanted to look away, but there was a spell in that one-eyed gaze of his, holding her ensorcelled.

  “Not a complete hand,” Duncan reasoned, taking a step closer. “Else I would now be savoring heather on my lips instead of garlic.” The laughter was gone from her face, replaced by a beguiling bewilderment and innocence. But although those moments of humorous sharing had passed, the bond created seemed to linger. It was a strange sweet intimacy, rivalling anything that he had ever experienced with a woman, more powerful, in some ways, than the ultimate union that two could share. He was loath to spoil it, yet the temptation to move closer was beyond resisting. “Ah, Kate,” he asked softly, “do you really taste of heather or was it just a foolish fancy?”

  They were barely a hand span apart, attracted like two poles of an unexplained magnetic force. But the bemused look in her eyes was not consent to break the pledge that he had made, regardless of the depth of his desire. Yet, for all its intensity, this need was surprisingly simple, not a burning, but a gentle warming flicker. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to be held by her, to feel the soft texture of her hair against his shoulder, to breathe in her scent and savor her lips. Then, as if moved by the intensity of his will, her hand rose. Slowly, her fingers moved tentatively towards him, almost like the limb of a marionette manipulated by invisible strings. Duncan held his breath, unmoving, unwilling to break this bewitched moment.