Let Me Be Your Hero (9 page)

It was a mantle placed unexpectedly across her small shoulders, and one she felt ill prepared for. She felt displaced. The walls of Lennox Castle, always so comforting, offered her no welcome and no peace. She felt faceless, nameless and terribly alone. Even the grass beneath her feet had its place where it could grow and be nourished, but Claire could only ask, “Where is my place?”

Time and again, Fraser tried to convince her to let him take her to Grahamstone Castle, or Monleigh Castle, or to live in any one of a dozen other castles she now owned, but Claire refused to leave her sisters.

“Canna ye understand, Fraser? I left them once, and I wasna here when Kendrew took sick. I came home too late to help him.”

“Then I will ask Isobel and Lord Walter if they will allow us to take yer sisters with us.”

“All right, ask them.”

Fraser left immediately and found Lord Walter in his usual haunt, the library.

“I am surprised ye would ask such a thing, Fraser. Ye ken all of the Lennoxes were placed under our care and, as their protector, I cannot allow them to be out from under my supervision.”

“I would think their sister would be capable of their supervision. Our castles are better staffed than this one, and their opportunities greater since they would no’ be isolated on this island.”

“I thank ye for yer interest in our wards, but my answer is final on the subject. As long as we hold the wardship, the girls stay with us.”

Fraser was saddened to have to report the grim
news to Claire. “I am sorry, but they have the law on their side.”

He tried to encourage Claire to become more involved with the running of the estates, now that she was the Countess of Errick and Mains. “I will soon,” she would say.

The weeks passed, and the strain on Fraser grew until he felt stretched thin. There was nothing of importance for him to do here. He could not convince Claire to leave without her sisters, and they could not leave without Isobel and Lord Walter’s approval. And Fraser was going mad. He loved Claire, but staying here would destroy him. He could not feel like a man when he had no role.

One afternoon, out of total boredom, Fraser worked in the garden. Later that evening, when he was putting the tools away, he accidentally knocked a bottle off the shelf with the handle of the rake. He picked it up and started to place it on the shelf when he saw a label, the type used by an apothecary. It was marked Poison. He removed the lid and saw it contained a white powder. There was no particular smell.

He dropped the bottle in his pocket, and the next day he took the boat and went into town, and stopped at the apothecary. He handed the proprietor the bottle. “I was wondering if ye could tell me what was in the bottle,” he said.

“Aye, I can tell ye, for ’tis one o’ my own bottles. ’Tis rat poison…arsenic.”

“Hmm, ye wouldna by chance ken who ye sold it to, would ye?”

“I write them down, ye ken, and I dinna sell too many bottles of arsenic.” He opened a bound ledger
and began running his finger up and down each page. “A week ago, Dr. MacNeill bought a bottle of potassium arsenite, which he uses to make Fowler’s solution. Hugh Fraser purchased a bottle a month ago to poison rats. Isobel Lennox purchased a bottle a little over two months ago for the same purpose.” He read out two more names and said, “That is all I have in this book. If ye be wantin’ more names, I would have to get the other book in the back.”

“I think that was enough. Thank ye.”

The chemist nodded and closed the book.

Fraser inquired as to the location of Dr. MacNeill’s office, but he was told Dr. MacNeill had gone to the Isle of Skye to see to his ill mother.

When Fraser arrived back at Inchmurrin, he replaced the bottle and told Claire about finding it.

“Weel, what is so strange aboot that? She probably used it to poison rats. What else would she do with it?”

“What if she gave it to Kendrew?”

Claire gasped and her hand flew up to her chest. “Auld Cloutie take ye, Fraser Graham! How can ye say such a thing when ye saw how Kendrew’s death affected her and Lord Walter both? And what about the monument for his grave? Do ye think that normal behavior for a murderer?”

“I am saying Kendrew could have been poisoned. I heard once that arsenic poisoning can cause fingernails to fall off, and yer hair, too. Ye saw the way his nails were lifting and practically off. And his hair…”

“A lot of things could probably cause that when ye are sick enough. I refuse to believe something so vile about someone who has been nothing but kind to all of us. Isobel and Lord Walter have never done anything
to deserve that kind of blame. Do not mention that to me again.”

She was right. He had nothing to blame his suspicions on.

Later that night, when they were in their room, Claire came to him and put her arms around him. “I didna mean to sound angry with ye today, Fraser.”

“I know.”

She stood on her toes and kissed him. “Make love to me.”

He put his arms around her, kissing her as he worked the buttons at the back of her dress and slipped it down past her shoulders. Her skin was soft and warm, and he lowered his head to kiss her throat, and then lower where the velvety drag of his tongue over her breasts brought the desired reaction, and he felt them harden to tight crowns. He groaned with a drugged feeling, heavy and filled with desire.

He pulled her to the bed with him and pushed the dress down further, past the smooth planes of her flat stomach over the juncture of her thighs until it fell to the floor. She stepped out of it and helped him remove her drawers before she lay down beside him. His hands caressed her while he tugged at her breasts with his mouth, his hand sliding down her firm legs, which parted slightly when he stroked her there. He placed his fingers on each side of her, and parted her gently until she was open to him completely. He covered her with his mouth, finding the point of her desire and touching it until she moaned, and spread her legs wider, allowing him to thrust into her deeply.

His mouth moved up to kiss her, again and again, while he stroked and touched her until she began to
writhe beneath him as he found the rhythm. She called out his name, and began to move with it, faster and faster until she began to convulse and cry out, her body jerking as spasm after spasm washed over her.

She was not sated, however, for he could tell by the way she still moved, the loving strokes of her hand, the way she searched for his mouth so he could kiss her. Knowing she was still highly aroused and wanting him, he lowered his hand and touched her, until she opened her legs wide again, enabling him to stroke her until she was unbelievably ready. Still he did not stop, but kept stroking her until she began to pant and press against him, thrusting her hips wildly until she went over the edge, shattered and crying out his name again.

He lost count of how many times he brought her to this point, for his mind was saturated with the knowledge that he was right to marry her, for she was the only woman for him.

He released himself from his pants, covered her with his body and began to stroke himself against her until she was writhing beneath him again, continuing until he was dangerously close to losing control completely, then drove himself into her and felt his body jerk as powerfully as she had done only a moment ago.

He held her close and drifted off to sleep, thinking that everything would be so perfect for them, if he could only get her out of this place and off the island completely.

Over the next few days, Fraser began to suspect that all of the kindness Isobel and Lord Walter showed to Claire and her brother and sisters was nothing more than a paltry subterfuge. Was it possible they intended
to do away with Kendrew from the beginning? It made sense. With Kendrew out of the way, Claire would inherit, since the title was designated to heirs male or female, and of course Isobel and Lord Walter knew that.

Only, what would be the motive? If they did away with Claire, one of her other sisters would inherit. They were too smart and cunning to believe they could do away with all Alasdair’s children and get away with it.

If they did not wish Claire’s death, why kill Ken-drew? What would they stand to gain by this?

When he had no answers, he decided to look at the past for answers, instead of trying to foretell the future. Scotland’s past was liberally sprinkled with similar stories where children, especially if they were wealthy heirs, were virtually forced to marry a designated person, in order for the unscrupulous guardians to gain control of their fortune. He thought of the Sutherland case, where the Earl of Sutherland and his wife were both poisoned by a relative. The heir to the title was their fifteen-year-old son, Alexander, who was forced to marry the thirty-two-year-old daughter of the guardian. After several miserable years, the young Alexander Sutherland was snatched out from under his guardian’s nose by several friends, who helped him hide until he reached his majority. When he came of age, he divorced the woman.

The case had a great many similarities to the Lennoxes. Right now Fraser was interested primarily in the motive. When Isobel Sinclair poisoned the Earl of Sutherland and his wife, it was her plan to poison their son, Alexander, but he returned home late from hunting and was warned by his dying father not to touch
any food, and not to drink anything. His father then sent him away to stay at a friend’s home. Isobel Sinclair’s own son, who stood next in line to inherit after Alexander, came home shortly after Alexander had departed, and being thirsty, he asked for something to drink. The help, not knowing the beverage was poisoned, gave him the poisoned drink and he died, a victim of his mother’s treachery.

The interesting parallel here was, Isobel Lennox had a son by a previous marriage. Giles was three or four years older than Claire. Since he was no blood relation, he could not inherit, but he could marry Claire and consequently assume control of her wealth.

If that were true, then only one thing stood in the way, and that was Fraser. If their plan was to force a marriage between Claire and Isobel’s son, Giles, then Fraser would have to be eliminated.

However, this was all speculation—a lot of supposition and no proof. Perhaps Claire was right. Perhaps he was wrongly accusing them. Either way, he had no choice but to wait things out awhile longer, to see where it went from here.

After all, how much worse could it get?

Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on,

And turns no more his head; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834), British poet.

Lyrical Ballads

“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” (1798)

I
n the waning hours of the day, just before gloaming, Claire wandered desultorily down the path on her customary walk. She noticed the brilliant colors she saw earlier were starting to look faded and somber. The sun still gave off a bright light, but it was filtered through a haze that lay like a cloud suspended in the atmosphere, obscuring everything below.

The waters of the loch were visible from the point where she stood near a copse. A mist was now settling along the length of the shoreline, hiding the various landmarks that lay behind it. She seemed thinner, and
upon first glimpse, any passerby might have wondered what tragedy had occurred in the life of one so fair, to cause such melancholy.

From time to time, Claire would find herself on the brink of calling her dogs. Other times, she thought she heard them trampling about in the dense thicket. Once, she paused to listen, so certain she was that she heard the muffled sound of them running up the path behind her.

If there could be any consolation or comfort to the absence of her beloved dogs, it was in knowing they brought joy into what had to be Dermot’s lonely life, now so separate and apart from the family he had come to love as his own.

She saw a boat approaching the island, and as it came closer, she saw a woman passenger and two pieces of baggage. It rounded the corner and vanished from sight. She continued on, curious now, to see who the woman was, and why she had chosen to visit Inchmurrin.

By the time Claire walked through the entrance that led to the castle, she saw the boat was already docked. A reed-slim woman, dressed all in white, stood to one side, while one of the men unloaded her two bags. He placed them on the dock next to her.

Claire was close enough that she could hear the clink of coins, and the rather husky tones of the woman’s voice as she thanked them.

She did not follow the woman into the house, but dallied about outside for a while longer, before she went inside.

Isobel and the woman were talking in a manner that bespoke they were old friends. When Isobel saw
Claire, she said, “Claire, my dear, do come and meet my dearest friend in all the world, Carolina, the Countess of Stagwyth.”

The Countess of Stagwyth… Claire could not have been more surprised or shocked if someone had slapped her in the face with a pig’s liver. That a woman of such immoral character, and infamous notoriety, was visiting in her home was astonishing.

If the woman had not been such a great beauty, her name alone would have been staggering, for her notoriety had reached even the furthermost corners of Inchmurrin Island. Although she was the daughter of a Scottish baron, she was educated in England and chose to remain there. She had been married four times, to a duke, two earls and a count. Her past was as colorful as her face was beautiful. Reputed to have an addiction to gambling, she had openly admitted she once visited an opium den on a dare. The parties she threw were said to outrival and outspend those given by the king. To pay her gambling debts, she used her jewels, promises to sponsor daughters into society, and, if the man she borrowed from pleased her, then the pleasure of her own body.

She was exquisitely beautiful; her skin unbelievably white and free of blemish—a fact attested to by those in the know—including the Earl of Sharrington. It was the earl who confessed, “I have kissed every square inch of her voluptuous body, and know all her identifying marks.” To prove he was the uncontested authority on the subject, he published a pamphlet with a drawing that identified the location and a description of those marks.

“Countess,” Claire said. “Welcome to Inchmurrin. I trust ye had a pleasant journey.”

“Excellent,” she said. “Isobel did not tell me you were such a beauty. My, with your looks and coloring, you could be the toast of London. You must persuade your aunt to allow you to come visit me sometime.”

“Claire is married,” Isobel said.

“Oh, that won’t matter, darling,” the Countess said. “Actually, many men prefer married women, and there are some of us women who prefer married men. So, you see, love, it works out.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Countess, but my work keeps me much too busy to travel.”

“I forgot to tell you that my niece is the Countess of Errick and Mains in her own right, and the Chief of Clan Lennox, so she is quite involved,” Isobel said.

“My…a countess
suo jure.
Congratulations.”

“Thank ye,” Claire said. “If ye will excuse me, I will check on my sisters. Have ye seen Fraser aboot?”

“Aye,” Isobel said. “He went upstairs an hour or so ago.”

Claire spent some time with her sisters, who were doing their lessons with Aggie, then she went to find Fraser.

She was surprised to find him lying across the bed asleep.

She sat down beside him. “Och! Dinna tell me ye have turned soft as a tattie on me,” she said. “What are ye doing in bed so early?”

“I have a headache…a bad one. Even the sun is unbearable.”

“Is it better now?”

“A wee bit better, but I think I will stay where I am for the rest o’ the evening. I do not feel like coming down to dinner.”

“If I brought ye some broth, could ye eat it?”

“No, I canna eat anything for a while.”

“I will send for the doctor.”

“No, it is only a headache. Tomorrow I will be fine.”

“I would feel better having the doctor, Fraser. I care aboot ye, and your suffering is my suffering.”

He squeezed her hand. “I dinna need a doctor. All I need is ye, Claire. I would like to sleep now.”

“All right. I will check on ye later.” She kissed his cheek and quietly left the room.

Dinner was two hours away, so Claire decided to use the time wisely, and headed for the library to work on the account books that needed updating daily. However, when she entered, Lord Walter was sitting at the desk. He looked up when she walked in.

“Did ye need to see me about something?” he asked.

“No, I wanted to look over the ledgers and review the accounts of the summer crops.” She withdrew a piece of paper from her pocket. “I have some figures I need to add to my last accounting.”

“Ye needn’t worry yourself with such as that. I am quite capable of taking care of everything.”

“Oh, I ken ye are most capable, Lord Walter, and I thank ye for yer help, but now that I am the countess it is my responsibility, and I want to start familiarizing myself with everything.”

“There truly isna enough work for both of us.”

“Weel, that should be good news for ye then, for ye willna have to spend yer days cooped up in here.”

Lord Walter did not say anything, but he did not need to. The angry expression on his face and the
venom-filled eyes said it well enough. It was a standoff of sorts, with her holding her ground and saying nothing more, and Lord Walter giving her hateful looks, but at last he shuffled his papers and carried them from the room.

It was not much of a victory, but it was the first she could remember having as far as Lord Walter was concerned and, that alone, made it seem much larger than it actually was.

Claire worked until dinnertime, when she closed her ledgers and put them away. She went immediately to check on Fraser and found him sleeping soundly. She pushed the hair back from his face and kissed his forehead, then went down to dinner.

The next morning, Claire was happy to hear Fraser felt like eating a little oatmeal, which she personally made and carried up to him. She stayed while he ate. When he was almost finished, she said, “I wanted ye to accompany me on the trip to check on the crops being grown on the southeast side of the loch, but I dinna think that would be a wise idea. Ye look too pale, and it is obvious to me ye are as weak as a lamb.” She removed the bowl of oatmeal and put it on the bedside table, then she placed her head on Fraser’s chest. “I want ye to get well, Fraser. Ye are my life. I canna live withoot ye.”

“Ye are everything to me, Claire.” He kissed the top of her head. “I would like to go with ye, ye know that, but I think it is best if I stay here. I dinna think my stomach is up to a boat trip right now.”

Claire stood and touched his face lovingly. “Get some rest, my love. I long to see some color back in yer cheeks.”

“I will, if ye will take yer sisters with ye, so ye dinna have to go alone.”

She smiled at him. “All right. I will tell them to blame ye for making them get up so early.”

An hour later, Claire and her sisters were in the boat for the trip across the loch, where they would be met by some of the clansmen who would escort them on horseback to make the crop inspections.

Things went on like that for the next several days, until Fraser asked her what was wrong with her. “Ye hardly give me a nod o’ recognition throughout the day,” he said.

“For some reason, knocking the Countess down in order to get close enough to ye to say ‘Good morning’ doesna appeal to me.” And with that Claire walked off, purposefully ignoring Fraser’s calls to come back.

That night, as she had every night for the past week, she pretended to be asleep when Fraser came to bed.

The next day, Kenna mentioned how she had several times witnessed the Countess throwing herself at Fraser. “Have ye seen how she behaves around him?”

“Aye, I ha’ seen more of her than I care to see. If she keeps this up, I will shove her dimpled arse in the loch.”

“Do ye think she is always like that, or is she simply taken with Fraser?”

Claire frowned. “Listen, Kenna, ye could put a pair o’ man’s breeks on a flagpole and she would proposition it. In London she is known as a flamboyant adulteress whose name was linked frequently with sexual intrigue, while at the same time she was known as the darling of the ton. People admired her open manner,
her sensuality, languishing looks and her ethereal nature.”

Claire noticed the horrified expression on Kenna’s face. “Dinna tell me ye havena heard of the Countess of Stagwyth.”

“No, I havena heard anything. What about her?”

Claire went on to unload every morsel of gossip she had ever heard or read about the Countess. “It is said that every prominent artist has painted her portrait at least once, and it was reckoned that she had slept with each of them in exchange for the artist’s fee, since she was known to say no money ever exchanged hands. She seems to prefer married men to single ones.”

“Oh, dear,” Kenna said. “That will never do. We need to be rid o’ her.”

“Aye, and I am contemplating shoving her in the loch.”

“With yer luck, she would probably float,” Kenna said.

“Aye,” Claire agreed.

The next morning Fraser had another headache, so he remained in bed. After checking on him, Claire spent some time in the library, after she and Lord Walter had made arrangements that she would have the library in the morning and he would have it in the afternoon.

It was almost lunchtime when Isobel came in and asked if she had checked on Fraser of late.

“No, why? Is he worse?”

Isobel shrugged. “I dinna ken, I only know he has no’ come down yet.”

“All right. I will check on him.”

Claire put her things away and went above stairs.
She put her hand on the doorknob and turned it, but the door was locked. She tried it again, then she knocked on the door. “Fraser?”

She heard a noise, then a thump, and footsteps coming toward the door. When it opened, Claire said, “I came to see how ye were feeling…” The rest of Claire’s words jammed in her throat for, instead of Fraser, it was Carolina who opened the door—Carolina with the smeared color on her lips and the unfastened bodice of her dress, one nipple peeking through the lacing as if it had hastily been shoved in place. There were red marks on her neck and shoulders, the kind produced by heavy kissing and love bites.

“What are ye doing in my bedroom with my husband, with the door locked?”

“I came to check on him, since he did not come down this morning. I did not realize the door was locked. It must have happened accidentally.”

“Even if ye didna lock it, what was yer reason for shutting the door?”

“I didn’t shut it. The wind blew it shut.”

That made a lot of sense, Claire thought. “On a windless day, with all the windows shut, the door blows shut? The only wind strong enough to do that, Countess, is coming from yer lying mouth. Stay away from my husband.”

The Countess smiled and walked around Claire without saying a word.

Claire went into the room. Fraser appeared to be asleep. The bed was tumbled. Claire put her hand on the sheets. They were still warm. That was when she noticed a wet spot on the sheets. She doubled up her fist and hit Fraser in the middle of the back. He
groaned and rolled onto his back. He put his hand to his head and squinted at her. “Claire…”

“Dinna say my name with the same foul mouth that has been kissing that hussy. Lying up here…pretending to be sick… I have to admit that is a clever way o’ having yer paramour slip into bed with ye, but ye might wait at least until I’m away from home afore ye do it.”

“I dinna ken what ye are talking aboot, Claire.”

“I’m talking aboot coming up here to check on ye and finding the door closed, and when I knock, the Countess opens it with her dinners hanging out and her lips smeared, and there is a spot on the bed that looks suspiciously like a lovemaking spot. Now, ye tell me ye dinna ken what I am talking aboot.”

“I never saw the Countess. I haven’t said a word to her since yesterday. If she was in here, she was awfully quiet.”

“Ye are as despicable as the Countess,” Claire said. She left without another word.

She spent the rest of the day with her sisters, and later that evening, she asked them to help her move her things into another room. “Do ye not love Fraser anymore?” Briana asked.