Legacy (33 page)

Bending over the bed, she scooped the babe into her arms and buried her face in his chubby neck. He laughed, showing two perfect front teeth. “There, my love,” Mairi crooned, tickling his stomach. “You’ve waited long enough. I’ll feed you.” Baring her breast, she brought the baby’s lips to her engorged nipple and sat down in a chair. The slight clenching of her stomach and the eager pulling of the bairn’s mouth restored her calm. David need never know about Edward. The servants were discreet. This was Traquair House, home to the Maxwells. Mairi Maxwell, a daughter of the house, would command more loyalty than David Murray. Eventually he would learn about the stone. Everyone would. But perhaps Robert would be victorious, and the truth could be told.

“M’lady.” A servant stepped into the nursery. “There are soldiers and townspeople at the gates. The Bruce leads them.”

Fear, as great as any she had ever known, froze the milk in her breasts. The baby suckled to no avail. Whimpering, he stared up at his mother, confusion in his eyes. Mairi stood and handed him to the maid. “I’ll dress and find out what they want.”

A long look passed between the two women. Mairi reached out and clutched the servant’s arm. “Take care of the bairn,” she whispered. “If I know he is safe, I can bear anything.”

“Shall I wake Lord Murray?” the woman asked.

Mairi shook her head. “Say nothing. He’ll waken soon enough.”

Robert the Bruce looked down from the height of his stallion on David Murray’s wife. They were in the courtyard of Traquair House, surrounded by his soldiers and a mob of angry citizens from Selkirk and Galashiels.

“Where is Lord Murray?” the Bruce asked coldly.

Mairi lifted her chin, meeting the biting anger in his green eyes without fear. “He sleeps, m’lord.”

“Send a servant to wake him. I want him here when I accuse his wife.”

“He’ll know soon enough,” she replied calmly. “Of what am I accused?”

“Sedition.” He flung the word at her feet, expecting her to grovel and plead for mercy.

Mairi of Shiels did neither. She smiled as if the entire scene amused her. Turning to a lackey who stood by the door, she spoke. “Wake my husband, knave. Tell him his” she hesitated over the word—“his king desires speech with him.”

Robert flushed and set his teeth, waiting for the man to do her bidding. He knew that Mairi of Shiels had held him up to measure and found him wanting. Grudging admiration dimmed the anger threatening to explode in Robert’s chest. Holy God, she was magnificent. How had Murray won such a woman? He could see why she had taken Edward of England to her bed, but why had she wed David Murray? There was a time, before her marriage, when Robert had wanted her for himself. In terms it still pained him to remember, she had refused him. There wasn’t another woman in all of Scotland who wouldn’t succumb to the silver-tongued charms of red-haired, green-eyed Robert the Bruce, not even when he’d been the landless earl of Carrick. By the blood of Christ, he was more than ready to bestow royal mercy on such a lass if only she could be persuaded to look upon him with favor.

Moments later, David Murray came through the doors of Traquair, rubbing his eyes. He blinked in amazement at the entourage surrounding his king. “What is the meaning of this, Robert?” he asked quietly.

“Your wife knows better than I,” replied the Bruce.

“Mairi?” David’s dark eyes smiled at her across the courtyard.

It would do no good to spare him. “I am accused of sedition,” she said, making no attempt to soften the blunt words.

“That’s impossible,” replied David flatly.

“How do you know?” demanded the Bruce.

“I know my wife.”

“A woman who beds down with Edward of England is not a woman a man can know.”

David’s jaw clamped down angrily. “You lie, Robert of Carrick. My wife is true.”

A smile of triumph crossed Robert’s face. “Ask her.”

“I shall do so.” David crossed the courtyard and took Mairi’s hands in his own. From his trembling grasp, she knew how much this cost him. “You’ve never lied to me, Mairi. Speak the truth now.”

Despair tore at her heart. She wet her lips, forcing the ugly words past them. “I took Edward to my bed. But I did not betray my king or country.”

“That depends of which king you are speaking,” Robert broke in. “The charge for sedition is death.”

David turned on him. “If every woman guilty of adultery is accused of sedition, why are not the heads of your mistresses mounted on pikes throughout Scotland?”

“How dare you?” Robert growled.

“She is my wife,” David reminded him.

A burly lackey dressed in the livery of the Maxwells stepped forward. Mairi recognized him immediately. “What of the stone?” he shouted. “Ask her about the stone.”

“What of the stone, Mairi of Shiels?” Robert asked. “Scotland’s Stone of Destiny no longer rests on Moot Hill.”

Mairi stared at him, saying nothing. She had known it would come to this, but she had hoped for more time.

“Speak, Mairi,” Robert commanded her. “Speak or you sign your own death warrant.”

“Think what you will,” she cried. “I did not betray my country.”

“Mairi,” David pleaded. “Tell them the truth. Where is the Stone of Scone?”

“It is safe,” she whispered. “Ask me no more.”

His fingers dug into her shoulders. “They are going to kill you,” he whispered.

Her back stiffened. She lifted her head, her eyes flashing silver fire at the man who called himself king. “I am a Scot,” she said, centuries of dynastic pride revealed in her haughty voice. “Descended from Macus, king of the Isle of Man. My family has ruled the borders since the Picts of Dalriada. You are of Norman blood, Robert the Bruce of Carrick. I have a greater stake in this land of my ancestors than you shall ever have. Hear me now and leave me in peace. I did not betray my country.”

Robert stared down at her for a long time, ignoring the murmuring of peasant voices at his back. David held his breath. Suddenly, the crowd parted, and a tall woman, richly dressed, strode forward to stand before Mairi.

“Mother.” David’s bewilderment was obvious. “What are you doing here?”

Robert spoke first. “I asked her to come. Lady Douglas is Mairi’s accuser.” He nodded at the woman. “Tell your son what you saw.”

David gasped, and the color left his face. His mother was famous throughout Scotland for her second sight. There were some who called Grizelle Murray Douglas a witch. She had known of Mairi’s affair with Edward and had tried to dissuade her son from marrying her. Since Grizelle’s own marriage to the third earl of Douglas, she made no secret of her hatred for her son’s wife.

“I saw her,” she said, pointing at Mairi. “She took the stone from Moot Hill.”

“A woman, alone in the darkness, couldn’t possibly carry away a stone of that size,” David argued.

“She wasn’t alone,” Grizelle countered. “There were men and horses with her.”

The woman lied. Mairi knew it was a lie just as she knew her fate was sealed. There had been only one horse and one wagon that night. Everyone else was on foot. She stepped closer to Grizelle, gray eyes staring into brown. Her voice was pitched low so that only the two of them heard her words. “Why do you do this, Grizelle? If you truly have the sight, you know that I speak the truth.”

Mairi was so close that Grizelle could breathe her fear. The fear she would never show. She was a stone’s throw from death, and still she would not plead for mercy. She stood as she always had, proud and tall, with a regal poise unusual in a woman. For a moment there was a flicker of regret in Grizelle’s dark, witchlike eyes, and then it was gone. She hardened her heart. “I’ve waited a long time for this, Mairi of Shiels,” she whispered. “You will die accursed for your deed.”

“Which deed, m’lady?”

Grizelle’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped back. Pointing a shaking finger, she screamed, “I curse you, Mairi of Shiels and Traquair and all the daughters of your line. For your treachery they will never rest. Cursed to pay for your deed, their sleep will be haunted by the dead until they die of foul and tragic means. Only when Scotland’s Stone of Destiny is found, will the curse be lifted.”

“’Tis your own flesh and blood you condemn,” cried Mairi.

An angry murmuring swelled through the crowd. Dogs growled and barked. A baby cried.

Robert held up his hand. Again, there was silence. “Bring out the stones,” he ordered, confident Mairi would confess once she saw the instrument of her death. Four men in yokes, straining against thick ropes tied to their shoulders, dragged an enormous slab of granite into the courtyard.

“No,” gasped David. “I won’t allow it.”

“Restrain him,” ordered the Bruce.

Two soldiers stepped forward and gripped David’s arms. His face haunted, he began to struggle. “Robert, I beg of you. Do not do this,” he shouted, twisting against the arms that held him like bands of steel. “Please.” Panic caused his voice to crack. “Spare my wife.”

Mairi was pale as a ghost, but her back was straight and her eyes, gray and icy as a mountain tarn, stared at the man who would be king.

“Your end is near, Mairi,” Robert said. “Speak now or stand before your God with a lie on your lips.”

The flashing scorn in her eyes withered him. He could scarcely form the words. “Kill her.”

Two guards stepped forward. Each took one arm. Mairi looked at one and then the other. Chastened, they released her and stepped back. Quickly, with graceful, catlike steps, she walked to the slab and lay down upon it.

Six more men carried a second slab, equal in size to the first, to where Mairi lay.

“Noooo…” moaned David. The tears ran freely down his face.

With Herculean effort, the men lifted the granite slab above their heads and heaved. Mairi folded her arms across her chest and turned her head. “Hail Mary, full of grace—” Her lips moved in prayer, but her eyes never left her husband’s face. Not even when the stone landed, full force, crushing the life and breath from her body.

Traquair House

1993

A sting in my thigh woke me. Groggily, I tried to open my eyes but couldn’t quite manage it. The sensations of damp and cold penetrated my sweatshirt and leggings. I was still on the ground, my body twisted into an unnatural position on the stairs. Someone crouched beside me. It was a woman. I could tell from the cloying floral scent of her perfume.

“I know you’re coming around, Christina,” Kate Ferguson said in a voice that wasn’t the least bit servile. “There is no use pretending. I’ve brought you some orange juice. I want you completely alert when I tell you what I’ve planned.”

The insulin traveling through my veins renewed me. With only minimal effort, I opened my eyes. It was no longer dark. Kate stared down at me, holding an empty syringe in one hand and a thermos in the other. A flashlight sat on the step beside her, its circle of light reflecting off the ceiling and capturing the two of us in its artificial glow.

I wet my lips. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled contemptuously. “Do you really believe that I’d take orders from someone like you? Traquair belongs to me. I’ve no intention of ever leaving it.”

I sat up and reached for the thermos. She surrendered it immediately. Twisting off the top, I drank directly from the container, gulping the liquid down in huge restoring mouthfuls. The sweet juice cooled my parched throat and cleared away the remaining cobwebs from my brain. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and replaced the cap.

“How did you know where to give me my shot?”

“I took care of Ellen Maxwell for years. This isn’t the first time I’ve administered an injection.”

I needed time to think. Grasping at the first words that entered my mind, I spoke. “Maybe I was rather unfair,” I said, setting the thermos on the step. “Why don’t we see if we can come to some kind of arrangement.”

“I don’t think so.”

I looked up quickly, surprising a look of pure hatred on Kate’s face. The hair lifted on my arms and the back of my neck. “What do you mean?”

“Your time is up, Christina Murray.” She laughed, but the sound was humorless. “Did you think to escape your fate? I knew it was you the moment I saw your face.”

“How?” I whispered.

“The portrait of Jeanne Maxwell.”

“You hid it from me, didn’t you?”

She shrugged. “I needed more time before you learned of the connection between yourself and the others. But I misjudged you, Christina. You were such a shy, rabbity little thing when you first came. I didn’t believe that you’d take charge as soon as you did. It took me until now to plan a way to be rid of you.”

“You can’t mean that. Why would you bring me medication and juice if you planned to kill me all along?”

“I’m no murderer. I have no intention of killing you. That will be taken care of for me.”

I stared at her in fascinated horror, a germ of awareness growing inside my brain.

Her dark eyes glowed with a fanatical light. “You’ll never find it,” she crowed. “You’re doomed just like they were.”

Suddenly, I realized who she reminded me of. “You’re insane,” I whispered.

“I’m not the one searching for a stone to end a curse that began over seven hundred years ago.” Her gloating face was painful to look at. “When they find you in here, you’ll have died of natural causes. What does three days without insulin do to a diabetic, Christina?”

Desperately, I searched the stairs for a way out. Kate stood above, blocking the only escape route. There was one way to go and that was down. I considered pushing her aside but discarded the idea. Although Kate was older than I and not nearly as tall, she outweighed me by twenty pounds. One slip on the damp stairs would leave someone injured. The odds were against me. I decided to stall for time, hoping for an inspiration. Maybe there was some way I could get around her.

I stood and leaned against the wall, crossing my arms in what I hoped was a nonthreatening posture. “What exactly do you want from me, Kate?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again without speaking. Her brows drew together, and a look of confusion crossed her face. “What did you say?”

“I asked what you wanted from me,” I repeated. “There should be some way to work this out. After all, we are related.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There is no blood tie between us.”

Now it was my turn to be perplexed. “Of course there is,” I argued. “My mother is your half sister. Your father and my grandfather was James Maxwell. I know everything, Kate. I found the documents in the Hall of Records in Edinburgh.”

“What did you call me?” Her voice had changed. The consonants were softer, the brogue stronger. Something was definitely wrong.

“Are you all right?” I asked, reaching out to touch her arm.

“Whore,” she said, deliberately stepping backward. “You dishonor me with your touch.”

The blood rose in my face. I took a deep breath, consciously dredging up what remained of my self-control. “In the name of fairness, I’m willing to overlook a great deal,” I said reasonably. “However, it would be wise to remember who is the legal owner of Traquair House. You won’t get anywhere by insulting me.”

“I need nothing from you.” She spat contemptuously. “Lord Douglas’s estates are vast. What would I want with Maxwell leavings?”

The tight bun she normally wore had loosened. Wisps of dark hair framed her face, emphasizing the pale skin and oddly slanted dark eyes. There was no longer any doubt. The woman was truly insane. Kate Ferguson, housekeeper of Traquair, had disappeared. It was Grizelle Douglas, her witchlike eyes filled with hatred, who stared back at me.

Words, questions, half-formed responses, crowded together in my mind, tangled in my throat, and froze on my lips. I was speechless.

“What is it, Mairi?” the strange voice continued. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you? Did you hope to succeed this time?”

“Stop it! Stop it!” I shouted, finding my voice at last. “Don’t do this. We’ve got to get out of here.” Responding to a primitive instinct, I reached out and clutched her shoulders in a desperate effort to shake the madness from her.

With surprising strength, she pushed me back against the wall, blocking my chance for escape. “You’re not going anywhere. This is your fate, Mairi of Shiels. This is where you’ll spend eternity.”

Hysteria began to close in. Forcing myself to concentrate, I sat down on the step and took several deep, even breaths.

I expected her to turn, walk back up the stairs, and leave me behind, locked away forever in the ancient burial vault of Traquair House. But she didn’t. She waited, watching me with a silent, empty expression while my breathing and my terror stabilized.

“Why?” I whispered. “Why do you hate me so much?”

“You betrayed Scotland.”

I looked up quickly. Perhaps there was a way out of this after all. If it meant playing out the drama, so be it. Wetting my lips, I assumed the identity she’d given me. “You know I didn’t, Grizelle. If you have the sight, you know I did nothing to betray my country.”

“You were the English king’s whore. You bore him a child and then came back to my son. Your actions soiled the House of Murray. At court they laughed at David behind his back.”

What now? Could this really be happening? I’d read about schizophrenia, of course, but never before had I heard of anyone so skillfully concealing multiple personalities. Or was it something else? For how long had Kate believed she was Grizelle Douglas?

Again, I attempted to reason with her. “David didn’t agree. He married me of his own free will. We had a child, your grandson.”

She smiled triumphantly. “The child was better off without you. I raised him myself. Your name was never spoken. The taint of his Maxwell blood disappeared.”

Despite my fear, I was fascinated. How much did this woman who thought she was her seven-hundred-year-old ancestor really know? I couldn’t help myself. I had to find out. “What happened to David, Grizelle? Did he marry again?”

“He died at Bannockburn, fighting with the English against the Bruce.”

“Dear God.”

She nodded, and her mouth hardened. “That was your fault as well. He could not forgive Robert for your death.”

“You had a part in that,” I reminded her. “Did he forgive you?”

She brushed the question aside. “The hour grows late.” Picking up the flashlight, she turned to walk up the stairs. As an afterthought, she looked back at me. “I’ll not be seeing you again, Mairi Maxwell. ’Tis over between us.”

“But why?” I couldn’t let her go, not yet, not with the only available light. “You won, didn’t you? You wiped my name from the face of the earth. I’ve paid the price. Why must I die again?”

She turned back and stared at me as if I were a demented child. “Because of Ian Douglas, of course. You’ve bewitched another of my blood, Mairi. You carry his child. Your line must end forever.”

“No, please,” I begged. “Don’t take the light. At least leave the light.”

She considered my request and then shook her head. “You won’t need it.”

Heart hammering, I scrambled to my feet and followed her, staying just out of reach. I felt light-headed, but I knew that as long as I had strength there was no choice except to continue. If I reached the top of the stairs at the same time she did, I had a chance of overpowering her and pushing my way out of the door.

There was enough light to recognize the landmark short step. Kate was just ahead, around the next bend. Suddenly, I heard a voice too low to be Kate Ferguson’s.

Hurrying, I followed the curving stairs and stopped short, almost dropping with relief. Ian Douglas, a flashlight in one hand, a jacket and paper bag in the other, was staring at Kate with a look of disbelief on his face. Whatever else I knew of Ian, I was confident that he meant me no harm.

“What in the name of bloody hell are you doing here?” he asked Kate.

“I might ask the same of you,” she replied. Apparently she was herself again, slipping into her present-day personality as easily as she had left it.

“Ian,” I cried out, stumbling in my hurry to reach the safety of his side.

Kate blocked my way. “There is no other way, Ian. She is the one who carries the curse. Without her, there will be no more of Mairi’s line. The Murrays will be avenged.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ian’s face was ashen in the pale glow of the flashlight. “This isn’t about a curse, and you know it. You’ve allowed this inheritance business to cloud your thinking. We’ve had enough.” He reached out his hand to me. “Come, Christina.”

“No.” Kate’s voice was shrill. “She stays here.”

Disregarding her completely, Ian shouldered his way past her and pulled me into his arms. “Are you all right?” he asked, relief evident in his voice. “Your mother told me about your conversation this morning. I assumed you’d be here. Thank God I was right.”

“I’m fine,” I mumbled into his shirt, “and very glad to see you. Did you bring something to eat?”

He laughed. “Of course. But it wasn’t my idea. Your mother deserves the credit.” He pulled away to look down at me. “I want no more half-truths between us.”

Neither of us noticed Kate coming down the stairs toward us. I was rummaging through the bag when her voice stopped me.

“Stay with her if you must,” she shrieked, brandishing a kitchen knife with a pointed blade. “The two of you shall meet your fate together.”

With a curse, Ian stepped in front of me just as she lunged forward. The knife caught his forearm in a deep gash. Blood soaked his sleeve and dripped down over the stairs. His knees gave way, and he doubled over. I screamed and cradled him in my arms, trying to pull him away from her.

Kate laughed and lifted the knife again. I closed my eyes, fully expecting that moment to be my last. One second passed, then two. Nothing happened. Cautiously I lifted my lids, a fraction at first and then completely. She had focused on something behind us. The glee on her face had been replaced by fear. For a full minute she stared, seeing something in the darkened space that I, no matter how hard I strained, could not. After what seemed an eternity, she snarled and turned away from us to climb the stairs.

Ian struggled to his feet. His left hand was clamped down tightly over his wound. “I’m going after her,” he said. “She’s obviously mad, and your mother is waiting for us at the top. With that knife, I don’t know what Kate will do to her.”

Ian handed me the light and started up the stairs after her. She was already far enough ahead of him to make my heart stand still. If she got to the top before he did— “Hurry, Ian,” I shouted. “Hurry.”

My head swam, and I sat down again, overcome by weakness. I couldn’t begin to think of following them until I’d eaten. It was a long way to the top. An endless climb of narrow passages and slippery steps, requiring complete concentration. I simply wasn’t up to it.

Positioning the flashlight on the step below, I reached into the bag and took out an apple. Blessing my mother’s foresight, I stared into the inky blackness outside my circle of light and ate down to the core. It wasn’t until I’d replaced the remains in the bag that I noticed the light. It came from somewhere below me, soft and comforting, nothing like the dim, murky battery light surrounding me.

Slowly I stood, forgetting the food and the flashlight, forgetting everything but the mesmerizing pull of the glow before me. As I continued downward, the stairs ended and leveled out until I stood before a wall illuminated by white light. There was a narrow opening on one end. Turning sideways, I squeezed through into a room so bright I was momentarily blinded. When my eyes adjusted, I saw exactly what I’d expected.

It was the burial vault of my dream, complete with death masks and shadows and thousands of flickering candles. Beneath a small altar on a raised dais was Scotland’s Stone of Destiny. Behind it, her hands resting at her sides, her eyes steady on mine, was Mairi of Shiels.

This time she did not look tormented. In fact, she looked pleased. I smiled tentatively. She smiled back and beckoned me to join her. I crossed the distance between us and looked down at the stone. This was Jacob’s Pillar, the Royal Stone of the Belgic Kings brought from Dunstaffnage in A.D. 838, Scotland’s Stone of Destiny. Mine were the first human eyes to rest on it for over seven hundred years. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you for helping me find it.”