Duncan's Rose (18 page)

After a few readings, the priest asked Mac, “Mr. Wardlaw, would you like to say something before we cover his coffin?”

Mac jerked his head up, startled by the question. He looked around, then told the priest, “No, let’s just bury him.”

“Anyone else?” the priest asked, his gaze roaming around the small gathering.

“I have something to say,” Miranda said, her voice shaking. Mac swung his gaze toward her, uncertain of what she might possibly want to say to a man who tried to kill her.

“Please, my child, come here. Say what you want.”

Miranda walked slowly, in hesitant steps, toward the priest.

As she stood there, she inhaled, clearly not comfortable with what she was doing. “I didn’t know Kenneth Wardlaw personally, but for the things he has done to me, I forgive him with all of my heart. I hope he sees what he did to all of the people who loved him, and that he understands now the important things he missed. I hope he finds peace.”

The funeral guests walked back to the mansion’s living room. After shaking hands with Mac, the priest left with the guards. Mac, the doctor, and Miranda stood in the center of the living room like strangers. Mac didn’t know how to make the situation any easier, since he and the doc were still on shaky grounds.

“Excuse me, but I have some things to take care of in my room,” Miranda announced, and she turned before any of them could say anything.

“Wait,” Mac said.

She stopped her in her tracks. “Yes?”

“I would like to see you at dinner, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, at seven.” Miranda turned and left.

* * * *

Mac stood beside the fireplace, leaning against the mantle. “I read the diary.” He reached into his jacket, pulled the diary from his pocket, and handed it to Dr. Bradford. “Here, take it. It’s yours, anyway.”

“Did you understand?” The doctor took the book and held it with both hands close to his chest.

“I understand my mother’s actions now,” Mac replied. “And though both of you made a mistake, I believe it was a love story that went wrong.”

“We did make our share of mistakes, Mac—but you were not one of them. At least not to us,” the doctor said. His voice had a sincere tone to it, but Mac’s still-sour feelings toward his real father stopped him from sympathizing with him.

“And yet, you let my uncle take me with him all these years.”

“I couldn’t fight him, Mac. He would’ve won in any case. After Alfred’s death, your uncle regained his inheritance, and it was enough to buy and corrupt any man’s conscience. He controlled the lawyers, the law enforcers, even the villagers.”

“You are not better than him.” Mac locked his gaze with the doctor, challenging.

“Maybe I was and still am a coward.”

“There’s no evidence that he killed my parents,” Mac said. “Otherwise, he would have killed me too, don’t you think?”

The doctor shook his head. “The money was all yours, and he needed you to be alive to have access to the money. You, my dear son, were his key to power and wealth. He was in that house and he saved you, that is for sure.”

“But he couldn’t have gotten my money. I had a guardian in the city, the lawyer my mother appointed, and he died a long time ago after the accident. See, it couldn’t have been Uncle Ken who set the fire. It was my father who burned our house down. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. Uncle Ken raised me, and I have more memories of him than of my real father.” Mac sighed bitterly. “His secret died with him.”

“Well, believe it or not, he did kill your parents. Your mother told me he threatened her, and that’s enough evidence for me. And then the lawyer who visited the village fifteen years ago died in a suspicious accident. I believe he was your lawyer, now that you’re telling me about one.”

“What about the villagers? Why did he hate them so much?”

“By making you hate the villagers, your uncle would gain power to act as God—don’t you see? He also wanted you to hate me, because I am your real father.”

“Why? What would he gain?” Mac asked. He was ashamed of his own negligence in never investigating his parents’ death.

“He needed to control you, to feel he was the one in charge. Kenneth Wardlaw played these games all his life. And, of course, your money was a factor.”

Mac’s head started to pound with uneasiness. What difference did it make now if his uncle did kill his parents? Uncle Ken had died with his own secret. And even if he did kill them, Mac couldn’t avenge his parents now. What confused him was the reason behind his uncle’s attempt to kill Miranda. Her book would expose Mac’s real identity—but so what?

He thought of asking Bob who attacked Miranda, but since that morning, he was kept in the police station in Gott. He wouldn’t ease his mind by revealing such a secret anyway, assuming his paranoid uncle shared it with him in the first place.

“I’ll be in my clinic if you need me,” the doctor said, excusing himself. He reached hesitantly for Mac’s arm but stopped and walked away, his shoulders shrugged and his head bent.

“The car is ready outside. Ask them to drop you.”

“Thanks, I need to walk.” Mac listened to the sound of his real father’s footsteps fading as he walked away.

* * * *

Half an hour before dinner, Mac indulged himself with a glass of whisky from his office cabinet. He needed all the courage and the energy he could get tonight, and he was already exhausted from the events of the day. His life seemed to be collapsing around him, piece by piece. It was so bitter and dull, to end up all alone. Even though he now knew who his real father was, he also knew the doctor had left him for almost thirty years; he was there, but not really there. And now Miranda was leaving as well. With her gone, he would have nothing to live for.

All his life he’d sought the woman who’d haunted him. Needed, this woman to fix the tiny piece of his soul that had been broken for so very long. So desperate to find her, he’d been blind to his uncle’s insanity, his darkness—and now he had to pay the price.

When his uncle suggested inviting Miranda to the island, Mac never wondered why. He had only seen it as a chance to finally get Rose where he wanted her. He knew that, when Miranda was on the island, she would see him. For years he’d watched her, studied her habits, her likes, dislikes, right down to the flowers she loved. Motivated by revenge, he’d sought her with an unusual fervor. Now, faced with the wretched truth, he couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t go back to the cold, distant man he’d been.

Revenge was his initial reason for finding Miranda, But his feelings had quickly transformed into an ardor beyond his control. Now he had forgotten how to live again without her.

He needed her! As Mac bolted out of his leather chair and placed both of his hands on his desk, a strange thought ate at his brain: maybe it was meant for him to become insane, as Rose had.

No! What’s wrong with me?
He had to get a grip on his nerves. Mac walked to the window, opened it for some fresh air, and took a deep breath.

He would tell her, in a straightforward manner, that he loved her. If she refused his affections and claimed she didn’t love him, then he would go on with his life…somehow.

Liar! You won’t be able to do that.

A soft knock on his door drew him from his dark thoughts and struggles.

“Come in.”

Miranda entered. Her short blue dress danced around her thighs and a slight smile hitched up the corners of her mouth. She smelled like fresh air filled with the aroma of recently blossomed roses. He smiled back at her, then looked at the clock on the wall. “You’re on the dot.”

“Always.” Her soft, velvety voice reached his heart and brought hope into his soul.

Miranda tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Tonight, she was determined to let him see what he meant to her. What they had gone through was not something she would ignore; their existence and reincarnation to find love again were part of their destiny. No one, not even she, could deny the fact that Mac and Miranda were indeed Duncan and Rose.

She’d had difficulty adjusting to it for a while. She’d tried to fight the idea that they came back to correct their previous mistakes.

The fear Mac saw on her face the day he rescued her was not what she had meant to express, and she must make him understand that. He watched her approach in silence. He stood by the window; his half-open burgundy shirt revealing his athletic chest. Her necklace dangled from his neck. His long legs were hugged by black trousers that showed his strength. He looked strong and confidant. As she neared him, his irises darkened from light blue to a dark navy hue.

“Would you like a drink?” Mac asked. “Wine, maybe?”

“No,” Miranda said, clearing her throat. “We need to talk first.”

“Sure, I’m listening.”

“I know I hurt you the other day by the way I looked at you. There’s no explanation for it other than that I expressed what was in my heart, and at that moment, I was scared of everyone, including you. I don’t deny it.”

“So…”

“Please.” She brushed her fingertips against his lips. “Let me finish what I want to say.”

Mac nodded and kissed her fingers softly. His gaze was still locked with hers.

“I was scared, Mac, and I didn’t think straight. There were many things going on, and my brain just shut down every logical explanation. I only concentrated on saving myself. But after I calmed down, I knew that I owed you an apology.”

“Your reaction hurt me deeply, but I should have understood that you were scared.”

“No, Mac. That shouldn’t have been enough for me to doubt you. I never believed that your Uncle Ken actually planned my death. I never had that possibility in my mind. I mean, why would he kill me, just for the book? What was so scary about my research that would make him do such thing?”

“He may have thought you would find out who killed my parents.” Mac wrapped a hand around her waist.

“True, but you’re the one who brought me here—you know, to stop my book. Then you accused Rose…me…of betraying Duncan, you. You wanted to avenge him or yourself. I thought you might have had a bigger motive to get rid of me. I don’t know what I thought, Mac, I just was scared. That’s all.” Miranda searched his face for a hurtful reaction to her honesty, but he didn’t flinch.

“At first I wanted revenge, yes,” he said. “But then I fell in love with you.”

“How was I supposed to believe that, when it seemed all you wanted was to stop me from publishing my book?”

“I thought I made it clear that I didn’t care anymore about the book,” Mac said. “And yes, I can see how you might have thought that was a lie. But I couldn’t deny the attraction between our souls, and don’t tell me you don’t feel it. I know you do.”

“I did fall in love with you Mac, but…”

“Please, no buts,” he said. He held her gently by the shoulders. “I don’t care about the book, or what Duncan and Rose did. I care about you, me, and now. I love you, Miranda. Don’t leave. Give us that second chance we deserve.”

“Is that what you thought I was doing, leaving you?”

“Yes,” he breathed.

Miranda placed a hand on his open shirt and touched the shiny necklace hanging from his neck. “You fixed it.”

He looked down at the necklace held in her fingers. “Yes, I did. I knew how much you loved it.”

“Read the inscription again, Mac.”

He didn’t need to read the necklace. The words were etched in his heart. “Some are haunted by their first lost love; the lucky ones get to find it again. Duncan and Rose, Jan. 02, 1770.”

Mac reached up to touch his mask and exhaled.

“Why the sad face?” Miranda placed a hand on top of his.

“I need to have these scars removed.”

“Why?”

“I kept the scars as a reminder of my need to avenge the murder of my parents. Now, I’m at peace with myself and others.”

“But I love that part of you, Mac. I don’t want to miss it.”

A soft smile painted Mac’s features as he whispered, “You are too much for my heart to handle.”

“I am too much of too many things, don’t you think?” she murmured seductively, sliding her arms around his neck. She poised her mouth inches below his, tempting and teasing him with a promise of a kiss.

“I love every complicated inch of you,” he growled playfully.

“Oh, Mac. I love you, too.”

He reached beneath her skirt, cupped her bottom in his large palms, and lifted her against his body. She shivered in anticipation.

“What are you doing?” she asked as her feet came off the floor. Then she squealed and wrapped her legs around his waist to hold on while he made his way to his desk. With one hand, Mac pushed every paper, pin, and stationary off the mahogany desk, sending it all crashing to the floor, and eased her heated back down onto the cold surface.

“Finishing what we started a couple of days ago,” Mac said, winking at her seductively. She remembered the day Jack, the guard, had rudely interrupted their lovemaking.

Miranda laughed, a warm happy sound filled with love. Her eyelids fell to half mast, weighted down with desire as she watched him quickly strip off all his clothes. Then he grabbed her thighs and pulled her toward his groin. Mac stood at the edge of the desk and spread her legs even further apart, slipping his hands under her dress. He caressed her legs, starting with her calves and slithering his fingers slowly all the way up to her thighs. Her breathing quickened, her breasts became firm and full and her nipples tightened. Filled with the heat of desire, Miranda gasped, “Do we need this foreplay, really? I am ready. Please fuck me.”