Elusive (12 page)

“Blair? Is that you?” LeGard had heard the
sounds of footsteps coming from the apartment. He hoped she was
back. He had missed her and worried about her constantly since she
left. He had not expected her to be away so long. “Blair?” he
called once more as he rounded the corner to the bathroom. He knew
he was old, but he had yet to start imagining things. Someone was
up here.

As he turned to go back to the main living
area, the blow hit him from behind. Pierre LeGard would never see
another day. His head struck the table in the hallway as he fell,
and he died instantly.

In a panic, the man checked the girl’s desk
to see if there was anything that might lead him to her. He emptied
all the drawers and tossed the fragile lamp onto the floor. He tore
apart everything in the apartment, cushions, pillows, and the
mattress. He dumped flower pots—just for spite. He cut the backing
from the painting on the wall and slashed the painting itself when
he found nothing. All was destroyed in an effort to find out where
she had gone and in frustration for not finding anything to help.
Not wanting to get caught with a dead man, he carefully left the
house.

**************************

Chapter 14: Blair Discovers The Past

Edinburgh, Scotland - June 1912

She had looked up the lawyer’s office as soon
as she got to Edinburgh. Unfortunately, he had gone to Paris on
vacation and would be gone for a month. The irony of them crossing
paths was not lost on her. Since she did not dare go back to Paris,
she decided to stay in Edinburgh and put the time to good use.

She found a sweet little boarding house where
she had a room with a big bed so high off the floor she had to use
little steps to climb up to the top of the feather mattress. She
did have to go down the hall where there was a tiny bath, but she
would not be inconvenienced for very long, and the rent was
cheap.

She spent her days in museums, the library,
visiting the cafés, some of the drinking establishments—pubs they
called them here—walking the streets of Edinburgh, looking in shop
windows, visiting the churches, talking to the clerks in the shops.
She listened carefully to those speaking in Scots and Scots
English. Once she heard a man speaking in Gaelic to a woman who
must have been his wife. It was a rare gift to hear it, since
Gaelic was seldom used anymore. What wonderful languages they were,
and how different from the flowing French to which she was so
accustomed. She was determined to learn them as soon as
possible.

Scotland was not what she had imagined—it was
better! She found herself steeped in history, myths, tales of
heroism, kings and queens, lairds and ladies. Then there was the
clothing she read about. Men in skirts—kilts—something she had
never thought she would see. She giggled thinking some had much
better legs than others. To be fair about it, she supposed men
often felt the same way about women.

Strangely, she found them quite handsome with
their hosiery and the shoes they called ghillie brogues, with
ghillie laces that fastened the shoes and then criss-crossed up the
hosiery to mid-calf.

The tartan scarves were attached to the left
shoulder of their shirts with elaborate pins. She went to shops and
asked questions about the symbols on the antique kilt pins and
scarf pins and learned that they were often fashioned in their
ancient clans’ emblems.

She learned about the tartans of the clans,
the heraldic symbols and the differences between a claymore and a
dirk.

She enjoyed the variety of hats they wore—the
tams and the jaunty Balmorals, her personal favorite—some with
little feathered pins on one side, some without.

The women she saw in Edinburgh tended to be
more English or European in dress.

She saw the variety of sporrans worn in front
of the kilt just below the waist. Some were made of leather; others
were fashioned from horse hair or fur.

She loved reading about the myths of the
fierce dragons that were supposed to symbolize the
cosmic
forces
from a parallel world that would bring fertility,
especially to the fields of those who believed.

Then there were the funny little gargoyles
with their grimacing faces. She found she was very fond of them.
They were found peering down from the buildings, sneering from
their carvings in furniture, sitting menacingly atop jewelry boxes,
and plopped down on all sorts of items in the shops. Perhaps when
she had a permanent place, she would buy something with the
creatures on it for her own home.

At the library, she found that Scottish
history had not—until the last few years—been as much a written
history as that of song and oral tales told, especially by the
women. Only because more modern poets had begun to get the tales
written down was she able to piece together her family’s tragic
history. She heard the oral history available in poems and songs in
the pubs where the Scots gathered after a hard day’s work. She
stayed away from the English establishments, knowing the tales
would not be heard there.

It was all so fascinating and Blair spent
every spare minute studying it, especially anything to do with the
McDonnough family. Now there was an ugly story, she frowned as she
thought about it.

So—the stories told—Macrath had been a
black-hearted monster. His wife, Caena, had died of a fall from the
tower walk—
childless
at age twenty. Sadly, Blair realized,
Caena had only lived for four years after she lost her beloved
Sòlas.

As she read it, she seriously doubted that
Caena
fell
. It was more likely that she left the walk with
Macrath pushing at her back. Or perhaps the poor girl could not
stand living with a monster anymore and had simply jumped!

The very idea of living with someone as
obviously evil as Macrath made her skin crawl. Blair was beginning
to really see just how protected and loved she herself had been.
She could also understand how hard it would have been for someone
as loved as Caena had been—by Sòlas and by Finnean—to find herself
under the power of a man like Macrath.

Macrath had had a reputation for taking what
he wanted, no matter who owned it. He exercised no concern over
whose lives were ruined by his greed, nor his careless use of those
on his estate. He had been a man of great jealousies, constantly
suspecting those around him of intrigue. As hateful as he was, he
certainly had reason to be suspicious. She thought sadly, what a
miserable man he must have been—twisted and sad.

So had begun the reign of terror and evil
that had swept into the McDonnough lands, and it hovered there
raining down destruction for over a hundred years. Their affairs
had taken a more secretive turn in more recent history. If what she
had heard was correct, it was only under the latest two lairds that
the people living on the McDonnough estate were better off than
they had been in the late 1700s. She wondered if that was just a
white-wash of what was truly going on in Donnach. Well, she’d see
soon enough and, if there was anything she could do to help the
people of Donnach, she would do it!

The more she learned the sadder she became.
Then she’d think of Roddy. Her spine would straighten and her
determination would take hold again. The most recent lairds had
perhaps appeared to be a better sort, but someone had killed Roddy
and tried to kill her. Someone
somewhere
was not so very
innocent!

**************************

Chapter 15: Patience Repaid

Edinburgh – July 1912

Finally, as summer was reaching its peak,
Blair returned to the lawyer’s office. Walking into the quiet
offices of one Angus Ferguson, her greatest hope was that she would
find the man there. She walked up to the very tidy wooden desk that
sat in front of a closed door.

The man seated at the desk was thin, his face
rather pinched, his appearance in general was very neat, but
somehow unwelcoming. “Excuse me.” She brought his attention away
from the document he was reading. “Has Mssr. Ferguson returned from
his trip?” she asked.

“Mademoiselle Delamare, isn’t it?” he
asked.

“Oui, Monsieur. Is there word from Mssr.
Ferguson?

“He will return to the office sometime in the
morning. Would you care to leave a message?” he asked without any
warmth whatsoever.

“Oui, please. Would you tell him that I am at
this boarding house?” she said, as she handed him a card provided
by her landlady. “I would like to see him as soon as possible upon
his return. It is a matter of extreme importance.” She felt her
nerves starting to jump. The journey into her future was about to
begin, and she recognized that she was afraid. The lawyer’s
assistant, Taog (TOOK), placed the card on his desk and promised to
advise Mr. Ferguson upon his return.

The next morning, there was a knock at her
bedroom door. Her landlady advised her that there was a gentleman
waiting in the parlor, and Blair immediately went downstairs. As
she entered the parlor, she recognized Taog. “Mssr. Taog, good
morning,” she said, smiling pleasantly but standing far enough away
that it was not necessary to offer her hand.

“Miss,” he said, without smiling. “Mr.
Ferguson asked me to stop by and let you know he is back from
Paris. He would like to see you as soon as you are able to come to
the office.”

“Oh, oui! Please tell him that I will be
there just as soon as I have had breakfast. Thank you, Mssr. Taog.”
Deciding not to be rude, she started to offer her hand.

“It’s just Taog,” he said, as he turned and
just left her standing there.

“Well, that man is just…” she struggled for
the right word, “…unlikeable!” she said to herself, as she wondered
if he was this standoffish with everyone or just her. She was not
going to let the man get to her. She straightened her shoulders,
held her head up high and headed for the stairs.

***

As she walked into his office an hour later,
Angus thought how accurately his old friend had described her. She
truly was a beauty—so tiny with such big gray eyes…and the pale
blonde hair. He thought he would have known her anywhere.

“My dear lassie, how glad I am that you are
here, and safe and sound,” he hugged her, much to her surprise.
“Ah, lassie, you look just as your dear uncle described you! Please
have a seat.” The Scottish accented English rolled off his
tongue.

“Taog! Taog!” Angus shouted for his
assistant. “Bring this lassie some tea. Quickly fellow!” Looking
back at Blair, “Lemon? Sugar? Perhaps some cream?”

“No, please. Just a cup of tea would be
lovely,” she replied.

“Now my dear, please tell me the events that
have brought you to me.” His face saddened, “I hear that my dear
old friend, Rodaidh, is no longer living.” He watched her as the
pain crossed her face and then faded as she sat straightened in her
chair. Aye, the lassie has had a bad time of it, he thought to
himself.

“I had planned to see him while I was in
Paris but…well, my trip did not happen soon enough.” Shaking his
head in disbelief, “I was shocked, my dear. He was a very special
man, your uncle.” He sighed heavily and dropped his slightly portly
body into the well-worn leather chair behind his desk. It squeaked
and groaned under his weight. “I tried to locate you, but now I
know why I could not hae found you!”

“Yes, Monsieur, Uncle Roddy was murdered—shot
to death—in Paris last May. He warned me in a letter that my safety
might be…that I might be in danger from other family members. Then,
when someone tried to kill me in Paris…”

“What?” he shouted rising from his chair.
“The black-hearted beast! Do the police know who it was?” he asked,
regaining control and sitting back down.

“No, Monsieur, I did not report it. I did not
know who to trust,” she explained. “I decided I should come here to
speak with you, as instructed by my uncle. You know of the
letters?” she asked him.

“Yes. I read them once—years ago. Yes, he
told me everything. The three of us—Roddy, your father, and I—had
known each other for many, many years.” He sighed heavily and then
continued. “I attended university in France, and we shared a lot of
history from those days. Before your parents’ deaths…” He cleared
his throat as the memories of his old friends hit him. “There were
only the three of us who knew the whole story from Sòlas’s point of
view. I was extremely honored that they trusted me with such an
important secret—trusted me with their lives really.”

“Monsieur, it is not that I doubt anything
you are saying, but why is it I have never heard of you or met you?
As my uncle’s good friend…well, shouldn’t he have mentioned you to
me before now?” There had been so many secrets, she thought.

The assistant came in and served tea. Somehow
he seemed as gray as his suit. When he passed her the cup of tea,
he smiled thinly, and then he backed out of the office and closed
the door.

Angus noticed the expression on the girl’s
face. Some people had this reaction to Taog. “Taog is a good man, a
hard worker.” He leaned toward Blair and whispered, “A tad dull for
my liking but a good man.”

Then sitting back, he continued in a normal
tone. “He has been with me for fifteen years. I trust him
explicitly. He knows
only
that you are a dear friend’s
daughter, and that he should assist you anytime I am unavailable.
While he knows nothing of the family intrigue in which you find
yourself, he does know that he is to provide you anything you need.
You may rely on him, as you can on me, my dear.”

“Now, back to your question,” he continued.
“Your dear uncle felt it best to keep any connection with Scotland,
with the estate…all of it…” he said, as he waved his hand in the
air dismissively, “…well, away from you, my dear. He did not want
his ties to me—what I knew—to be a part of your life until it
became necessary. We always met in a nearby town whenever I
traveled to Paris, and we spent many good hours together during
those visits.”