The Devil’s Due Read online

  “Aye, milaird,” Dewey agreed, almost weak with relief when that steely eye turned away. He took a relieved breath, realization dawning that, had the laird chosen to guest in his home, Mrs. Dewey’s wrath would have rivaled MacLean’s. Despite young MacLean’s heroism, he was still a man subject to a powerful curse.

  All of Scotland knew the tale of the MacLeans of Eilean Kirk. The MacLean Robert and his sons had turned their coats at Culloden. For English gold and the Hanover George, Robert had betrayed comrades and True King by secretly pledging his family’s allegiance to Cumberland, England’s bloody Butcher. It was well known that the bonny Prince himself had put his malediction upon The MacLeans’ heads.

  Of course, like most such condemnations, Charlie’s curse had held out one tantalizing hope of deliverance, as much to frustrate the MacLeans as to offer salvation, the legend told. The breaking of MacLeans’ bane entailed sacrifices that no man of their clan had ever been willing to make. Perhaps the English Crown would not get the Culloden blood money back immediately, Dewey reflected as the last of the traitor’s line walked out the door, but it would soon enough. The earl’s tall frame was gaunt, with flesh of an unhealthy grey-tinged pallor hugging far too tightly to the bone, the appearance of a man with the Cu Sith barking at his back, the dogs of hell in pursuit for to take his soul.

  . . .

  Duncan paused at the foot of the stairs, looking at his waiting companion thoughtfully before taking up the silently offered reins.

  “What news, Major?” Alfred Best asked at last, unable to read his master’s brooding countenance.

  “It seems that we have come to the parting of the ways, sergeant,” Duncan said with a rueful grimace.

  Alfred Best looked at him reproachfully. “‘Tis the third time today, Sir and it ain’t but eleven of the morning. I’d thought that we agreed that you can’t fire me but three times a day. It ain’t like you to break your word and that means the whole rest of the afternoon without your threatnin’ to turn me off. ‘Twill like as not be more than you can bear.”

  “No, Fred,” Duncan said, putting a hand on his former sergeant’s shoulder. “It seems that the Crown has gotten hold of my inheritance and it will take some time to wrest my family’s gold from the Treasury’s greedy fingers. So it is not yet to be the soft life that I promised you, my friend. The only thing left to me is an ancestral heap of stones that is more of a hovel than any decent crofter’s cottage.” He opened the purse that Dewey had given him and began to count out half the coins.

  Tears began to form in Fred’s rheumy eyes. “Just like that? Just fare thee well, been fine knowin’ you?”

  “I did not say that it had been fine, Fred,” Duncan said, his expression taking the sting from his words. “In fact, you are the most insubordinate, loutish excuse for a batman that I have ever known. I swear you nearly cut my throat every time you shave me. Sometimes I believe that it was actually your razor that put this scar on my face and you merely placed the blame on some innocent French guardsman.”

  “Your face is like a ruddy mountain, Sir. Any other man with less of a steady hand would ‘ave killed you long ago,” Fred said, falling into the familiar banter.

  “Why I ever agreed to take you on as my valet, heaven alone knows,” Duncan grumbled.

  “Punishment for your sins,” Fred said.

  “You are a good man, Fred,” Duncan said, counting out the fiftieth coin and putting the rest into his own purse.

  Fred’s mouth flew open. “That ain’t what you’re supposed to say, Major.”

  “I am afraid that I must deviate from our usual script,” Duncan said, proffering Dewey’s pouch. “Your half of a hundred pounds should be enough to help you get a decent start. As soon as I get my hands on the rest of my money, I swear that you will have enough for the tavern you have always been blathering about. You deserve a good bed, Sergeant, preferably one with a woman to soften it.”

  “You think I’d leave you for a skirt and a down tickin’? Are you to let in the loft, Sir?” Fred ventured, eying the pouch as one would a serpent on the verge of striking. “I’m goin’ where you go, Major. If you be sleepin’ on a stone bed, I’m for the rocks as well.”

  “‘And thy people shall be my people,’” Duncan quoted, his eye rolling upwards. “A Cockney Ruth the Moabite, heaven help us all.”

  “Aye, a bite might do us both some good,” Fred said cheerfully, tightening the girth on his saddle. “Just show us the way to this Cockney Ruth’s place and we’ll get us a bit of tucker. Never the worse for a bite of food, I says. We both could be better for some fattenin’, milord, or should I still be callin’ you ‘Major’?”

  “Address me as ‘major’ once more and I will fire you, Fred. They left us to rot in hell, no matter what our rank. And now I’ve found that they’ve lifted my purse and all I have are his bloody Majesty’s vowels,” Duncan declared emphatically as mounted his horse. “Are you absolutely sure you want to come with me?” The thought of losing one of the only men he still trusted was causing surprising discomfort

  “Aye,” Fred said, settling himself in the saddle. “A guardian angel, I am, is what I’m thinkin’.”

  Duncan snort was not quite a laugh.

  “Seems to me that someone ‘as to keep you out of trouble, Major.”

  “Fred, you are fired!” Duncan said.

  “That’s four!” Fred crowed, his rubbery face stretching into a huge grin “That’s another five shillings owin’ me, Major, a total of seven pounds. Add to what I won from you at cards and wages, comes to more than a hundred pounds all told. Looks like you can’t fire me now. Can’t afford to!”

  “Devil take you, Fred!” Duncan called, looking away lest the man see the glint of tears that blurred his vision. He turned his horse northwards

  “Question is where he be takin’ me,” the bantam man mumbled, hastily taking up the reins and galloping after his master.

  . . .

  Kate woke to the sound of distant thunder echoing in the mountains of Wester Ross. From the window of her bedchamber, she could see the silver waters of Loch Maree ruffling white with the rising wind. Clouds, grey and heavy with the promise of violent fury, gathered over the distant summit of Beinn Airidh Charr. With a cry of dismay, she ran down the back stairs, bare soles slapping on the worn stone. For all that it was midsummer; the kitchen garden had nearly been obliterated by a pelting hail in the previous thunderstorm. They could ill-afford to lose what little produce remained.

  “Daisy,” she called into the bowels of the antiquated kitchen. “How could you have let me sleep so long? I only intended to rest for a few minutes, yet you have allowed me to dream most of the afternoon away.”

  “‘Tis exhausted you were, milady,” Daisy Wilkes said, turning from the hearth to wag a wooden spoon at her mistress in a gesture of rebuke. “As it is, I can’t for the life of me think how I let you climb up on that roof. A wonder it is that you didn’t fall and break your neck, I swear. What his lordship would have said, I can’t imagine.”

  “My husband would have been shocked to his blue-blooded marrow, I venture. No doubt Lord Steele would have preferred that we had drowned in our beds, rather than risk my dubious dignity,” Kate said, biting her lip in worry as she hastily tied an apron over her worn round gown. “I only pray that the patches I fashioned will hold; else we will wish that we had fins and gills tonight. There is rain aplenty on the way. I am going out to the garden to salvage what vegetables I can.”

  “‘Tisn’t right,” Daisy said, shaking her head, “you, a lady, grubbing in the dirt. If only . . .”

  “It is no use to wonder ‘if only,” Kate said, frowning as she searched for a basket. “And ‘tis lucky indeed that I was raised as a child of the regiment, else we would not have gotten this far. If you recall, Daisy, it was you who transformed me from Colonel Braxton’s brat into a lady.”

  “Now don’t you go saying such things,” Daisy rebuked. “Your blood was as blue as your husband’s, fo
r all that your Ma chose to follow the drum.”

  “Yes, I come of good blood, and so, for that matter, does black pudding. A great deal of good my illustrious ancestry did me,” Kate commented caustically as she rummaged the cupboard. “My bloodlines and three shillings would admit me to Vauxhall and at present, I would rather have the coins. There it is!” She waved the rush basket in triumph.

  “You always was a lady,” Daisy said as she crossed the room and took a bonnet from the peg by the kitchen door, holding it out pointedly. “Made you look like one, was all I did, and I swear that I’ll try to keep it that way, for your dear Pa’s sake. So proud, he was, when you wed a lord.”

  “Yes, it did make Papa very happy,” Kate said with a wistful smile. “He had always thought that he had done Mamma a great wrong, by asking her to live the life of a soldier’s wife.” She shook her head as if to banish the bittersweet thoughts and took the bonnet from the maid’s hands, replacing it on its peg “No, Daisy, I was not born to be a London lady and if you fear for my complexion, my friend, it is far too late. I am as dark as a nut from working out of doors.”

  “But milady . . .” Daisy began to protest, her brown eyes mournful as a calf’s.

  “I thought we had agreed, Daisy, that you would stop addressing me as ‘milady.’ ‘Tis just ‘Kate’ and ‘Daisy’ betwixt us now.” Kate opened the door, and stared at the darkening sky, trying to gauge how long it would be before the first drops fell.

  “It don’t seem right,” Daisy said, pulling the bonnet down once more and thrusting into Kate’s hand. “You a lord’s widow and all.”

  “The title is of no use anymore. In fact, if we find ourselves on the run once again, it could definitely present a danger. It was only a matter of luck that no one heard you ‘miladying’ me on the journey,” Kate said, slinging the basket over her arm in surrender and tying the frilly confection on her head. Certainly, it was ludicrous to scrabble about in the garden wearing a bonnet that had cost more than the cow. In fact, she fully intended to take off the ridiculous bit of buckram as soon as she was out of sight, but for the present, it might placate Daisy.

  “Who’ll hear me call you ‘milady’ in this forsaken place?” Daisy complained with an encompassing wave of her hand. “The sheep? The children from the village who run from this place as if the devil himself lived here? ‘Tis haunted they say! And then there’s that fool curse.”

  “The curse is something of a blessing, from my way of thinking. I would much rather people believe this place inhabited by spirits, for that will keep them from asking questions,” Kate said, touching the older woman on the shoulder.

  The maid’s dejected look stirred feelings of guilt as Kate recalled Daisy’s gregarious ways. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry that I involved you in all this. You could easily be in a fine position back in London right now, I am sure. Half the ladies in the ton were trying to lure you away from me and I know for a fact that Lady Jersey herself offered to double your salary if you would leave my employ. It was selfish of me to allow you to sacrifice yourself, I know.”

  “As if I would have done otherwise,” Daisy said, her broad nose rising with an insulted sniff. “Needed me, you did, you and the little one. After what your Papa and Mamma done for me, what would make you think I wouldn’t stick by you, milady?”

  Kate dropped the basket and embraced the woman fiercely. “It is ‘Kate,’” she whispered. “Even if by some miracle we are ever able to go back, you must always call me ‘Kate.’”

  “If that day comes, I shall call you ‘milady’ and be glad of it. I was as proud as your Papa was on your wedding day and that’s the truth,” Daisy said prosaically, holding the young woman at arm’s length and reaching up automatically to tuck a wisp of chocolate hair into the bonnet. “Like a little girl you are with your hair always a mess . . . Kate.”

  Kate beamed at her in approval. After most of a lifetime spent in service, it was extremely difficult for Daisy to reverse the force of habit, treating her former mistress as an equal. “Now I can be le dernier cri for the goats,” Kate said an impish smile on her pixie face as she stooped to retrieve the fallen basket. “Is Anne outside?” she asked, pausing at the door to slip her feet into wooden pattens.

  “She were heading toward the orchard,” Daisy informed her, a smile transforming her moon face. “Her and that no-good dog wagging along behind. The two of them are sticking their noses everywhere. Caught her in the pasture this morning, I did, pulling at the cow’s teats and squirting milk into that hound’s mouth, as if we don’t need every drop for ourselves. She giggled when I scolded her. Giggled. A good sign, I’d say.”

  Kate felt her throat tightening. “That is a very good omen indeed, Daisy,” she said, a trifle hoarse with emotion. “How I wish that I had been there, for it has been so long since I have heard my daughter laugh. I believe that her progress can be deemed excellent, when just four months ago she would shriek if we strayed from her sight.”

  “Milady do you think . . .?” The look of hope on the maid’s face finished the question.

  “I do not know, Daisy,” Kate replied softly, her green eyes brightening with a hint of tears. “I do not know if Anne will ever speak again. She has come so far . . . I suppose that all we can do is hope.” Deliberately, she dismissed the child’s problems from her mind. There was produce to be gathered and the livestock to be cared for. The matters of day-to-day survival perforce must take priority. “Will you find Anne and bring her back to the house, please?”

  Daisy watched with a sigh as Kate disappeared from sight, looking for all the world like a village girl, clog-shod and ragged, but for the bonnet. Only a discerning eye could see the natural grace, the confidence of carriage that neither clothes nor the other trappings of poverty could conceal. Perhaps someday . . . Daisy shook her head. Someday was a foolish dream and she was not one to indulge in fancies. Here and now were far too difficult and tomorrow might be worse, she thought as she started down the overgrown path to the orchard to flush Anne from hiding.

  . . .

  Kate tugged the bonnet free as she stepped carefully among the rows, hands automatically stripping the stalks and vines of anything that looked remotely ripe. She knew full well that the small cucumbers would barely be of use for pickling, but she refused to sacrifice so much as a single bean to the coming storm. Coventry, the cow, was already in the byre, lowing mournfully as she awaited the afternoon milking and William, the goat, and his harem joined with her in a chorus of bleating sympathy.

  She could only hope that the crumbling stone pen would hold through the coming tempest. A distant cackle reminded Kate of the sorry state of the chicken coop. It had nearly blown away in the last rain and given the threatening look of the thunderheads, it might not survive the approaching bout of foul weather.

  There is so much to be done, Kate thought in desperation as she looked across the courtyard at the gaping maw where the rotten remains of a beamed oak door creaked on a rusty brass hinge. The ancient crenellated towers of the bailey rose above her like clawed fingers against the sky, their crumbling ruins dark and forbidding. Even though the east wing of Eilean Kirk Castle had reputedly been erected after Culloden, it was almost as much of a shambles as the time-worn main building. Pigeons flew through the broken windows, seeking shelter from the rising wind and tendrils of overgrown vines on the stone gargoyles writhed like Medusa’s hair.

  According to the local lore the decay was the direct result of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s curse. The structure built with bloody gold was doomed to fall as surely as the family that built it. Considering the castle’s macabre appearance and the unsavory MacLean legend, it was little wonder that the local inhabitants thought the place haunted. Certainly, years of neglect had rendered it almost entirely unfit for human habitation.

  Shoving the last ear of corn in her basket, Kate hurried to the kitchen and set the vegetables on the table before rushing outside again, scarcely knowing which task to turn to next. The air was thi
ck and heavy, weighing her down with weariness that went far beyond mere physical fatigue. A sense of futility overwhelmed her. In the time since her husband’s death, life had become a battlefield, with every day composed of a series of skirmishes in a fight for survival.

  “She isn’t to be found, milady!” Daisy came up the path, her brow furrowed with worry. “Called and called, I did. Could she have gone into the older part of the castle, do you think? Rotted and dangerous, those wood floors. Nearly went through one myself when first we came here.”

  “I doubt that she would play there. She fears the dark,” Kate reminded her, trying to reassure herself as much as the maid. “The lock on the tower door is repaired, so she can’t be up there.”

  “Annie! Annie!” Daisy shouted frantically, raising her voice against the wind.

  “She cannot answer you,” Kate said, attempting to remain calm. “Did you try calling for the dog?”

  Daisy shook her head. “Cur!” she cried.

  “Come here, you mangy Cur!” But the rumble of thunder swallowed her words.

  Kate put her fingers to her lips and blew a piercing whistle which was instantly rewarded with an answering yap. “Hardly ladylike, but it works,” she said in answer to Daisy’s look of disapproval.

  Within minutes, Anne came in sight at the top of the hill. Her little legs pumped furiously as she ran through the heather, herded toward the two women by a determined dog. As nearly as they could guess, border collies and beagles were part of the trysting mélange of breeds that had resulted in Cur.

  “Thinks the lass is a lamb, the mangy mongrel,” Daisy said, pulling her apron over the girl’s blonde curls to shield her from the first burst of raindrops before sweeping the child into her ample arms.