No Other Woman (No Other Series) (47 page)

"Where is she?" David demanded, returning to the spot not ten feet behind him where Shawna had stood just seconds before.

His brother and Sloan were quickly at his side.

"She's gone!" Sabrina cried.

"She can't be," Skylar protested.

"My God! She couldn't have gone far," Hawk said.

Alistair came rushing up. "David! I lost her. I was trying to get her to come back by Skylar and Sabrina. I've searched—"

"There!" Skylar shrieked suddenly. "By the altar!"

David looked. His heart grew heavy. Felt as if it was pierced by a thousand knives.

Something lay upon the altar.

David rushed through the crowd.

A body, covered in a dark cloak, dripping blood, lay upon the stone.

"No, God, no!"

David's voice was a fierce, sharp cry that rang to Heaven. He reached the altar, ripping away the cloak, then staring down with both amazement and relief.

It was not Shawna.

Mary Jane, her maid, lay upon the altar, the blood from the gash at her throat spilling upon the stone.

"It's not Shawna," he said. "Oh, God, it's not Shawna! We've got to find her!" he cried. "We've got to find her quickly."

"It's the witches!" Old loin called out.

"Nay, it's not!" Edwina shouted furiously. "Yet it is someone who would have us take the blame for what is evil!" She spun to David. "Indeed, we must find her, quickly."

But the crowd had grown ugly. Bizarrely costumed men and women, masked and plumed, began to toss her between them.

"Witches! Witches! Witches!" began a chant.

David leapt upon the foot of the altar stone, firing his gun.

The chant was silenced.

Edwina was released.

"My wife has been taken. I will find her. And if I discover that any one of you knows what has happened here, and does not aid me now, I will kill you with my bare hands. I promise."

"There!" Alistair shouted suddenly. "There, David, look! See! There are a number of them, hooded, cloaked figures, all but hidden in the darkness. Heading for the cliffs."

Indeed, there were a number of cloaked figures, huddled together, nothing more than a mass of shadow in the night, hurrying toward the cliffs by the loch.

And suddenly disappearing.

For a moment, he stared in disbelief. He had lived in the damned cliffs. He had made a lair in a cavern. He had explored the mines and the tunnels...

And he had apparently missed an entry.

Hawk suddenly rode up, leading his brother's horse. "David!"

David leapt atop his mount.

"Take me!" Edwina cried out to him.

He hesitated. Alistair and Sloan were alongside him now, on horseback also.

He reached down, catching Edwina's arm, bringing her up upon his horse.

They began to race like the night wind for the cliffs.

* * *

Shawna awoke with a terrible pain searing her head. She remembered the scent, the feel, of the drug from before. She tried to lie very still, praying for the pain in her head to subside.

She started to shift position, then realized that she was freezing and very uncomfortable.

She was lying on stone.

The Druid Stone?

That couldn't be. The Druid Stone would be surrounded by people....

She tried to move.

She was tied fast to the stone.

She opened her eyes slowly, and barely managed to contain the gasp that came to her lips.

She was in a small cavern in the caves, naked, and tied to a flat stone surface.

That much she realized fairly quickly, yet it all made little sense.

Then she saw more of her surroundings.

Before her, hung upon the cavern wall and looming hugely there, was a terrifying figure. The horns of a goat rested upon a cruelly leering mask of a man. The body of the figure had been made half-man, half-beast, with giant genitalia hanging in the appropriate place on the creature. Candles were lit all about the abomination.

She was not alone with it.

Cloaked figures were gathered around it, swaying back and forth.

She began to hear a low hum, a very strange chanting.

Oh, God, oh, God, where was she? The cliffs, aye, yes, where in the cliffs? How long had she been here?

She wanted to scream.

Scream and scream....

A shadow loomed over her. She closed her eyes to slits, desperate to see what was going on, terrified to do so.

Lowell.

Her great-uncle Lowell had brought her here.

Brought her here—with these creatures who had their own ceremony on the Night of the Moon Maiden. These were not the witches of Craig Rock, because the witches were gentle, kind, honest women practicing an ancient belief and healing of the body and the soul.

This was something... different.

This was what the Church had feared for years, this was what had brought about the deaths of thousands of innocent people. This was some kind of hellish practice of the devil, and her great-uncle, it seemed, was high priest.

And now he was watching her.

He wanted her dead. Nay, worse. He apparently intended to kill her himself. Why? Oh God, why? It seemed that this was to be a very special ceremony. The blood of the MacGinnis female who had laid claim as head of the family was about to be shed in some hellish attempt at...

What?

To honor a prince of darkness?

Something was... touching her.

Damp, hot... slowing moving against her body.

Her eyes flew open. She could no longer keep them closed, for something was indeed brushing against her. She screamed, writhing, as she realized that a cloaked and cowled figure was painting her naked body with something red....

"Shush, shush!" She heard her great-uncle say, moving his fingers with a gentle touch upon her temple.

"You didn't drug her properly!" someone said. Did she recognize the voice?
Aye, it
was
that of Fergus Anderson!

"Aye, she should be awake at the moment of the knife," someone else said.

"This isn't proper!"

Then she heard Lowell's voice, again.

Lowell. Her own great-uncle. Her own flesh and blood.

"I say what is and isn't here!" Lowell suddenly thundered, spinning around to accost anyone who would question his authority.

He turned back to Shawna. He smiled at her.

"Be still, child. You have to die."

"Why?" she demanded.

"It wasna right, lass, you being head of the family."

So that was it. His hatred had been brewing since her father's death.

Was it possible to reason with him?

"I'm not really head of the family now. I've married David Douglas."

"Aye, the ruddy bastard should have been dead. And instead, you've bred among them now, and the lad's been stolen away."

"You tried to kill David all those years ago."

"Aye, that I did. He was meant to die in the fire. Gawain was all consumed with worry about his lad Alistair, and it gave me great opportunity. You should have died in the fire as well."

"Why do I need to die?"

"You've no right to live, lass. But then..." He shrugged. "When one does murder in my way, lass, with my followers about it, it must be done the right way." He bent to whisper to her. "Ritual sacrifice, you know! A man can lose his followers if he is not careful."

"Don't talk to her, man!" Fergus cried.

"What does it matter?" Lowell asked.

"You promised a true celebration of the rites tonight; debauchery, and the like. If you'd take your time killing her, give her over to me and me boys—"

"Ach, shut up, Anderson!"

" 'Tis not as if the lass is pure in any way—"

"Ye'll not touch her!" Lowell said. "She's here to die tonight."

"What will it matter if she dies a wee bit more tarnished?" Daryl Anderson cried out.

Shawna found herself closing her eyes, wincing, trying to close out other sounds in the room. There were men and women there. Those who were not in on the argument where she lay were over by the creature. Kissing it grotesquely, then turning to one another. She could hear grunts, laughter, and shrieks as the men and women groped one another in wild abandon.

How many?
she wondered.

Perhaps ten or so...

Her great-uncle Lowell. Who else? Oh, God, who else of her own kin would do this to her?

"We've little time, MacGinnis!" Fergus Anderson said angrily.

"We've all the time we need. They've not found this cavern in five years; they'll not find it now."

"I still say we get her fine ladyship then, before the knife plunges into her throat!" Fergus grumbled.

"Get away from her!" Lowell demanded. With a sweep of his cloak he turned back to Shawna, blocking the others from her sight.

Lowell smiled, his face an obscure mask, and absurdly caricaturing her own. His eyes were so familiar. "Ah, Shawna! As to David Douglas. The ruddy bastard didn't die. No matter. He will."

"He will die... how many do you need to kill? Uncle Lowell, what are you doing, why are you doing this? I know that you're not practicing Wicca—"

He laughed. "The creatures of health and goodness and all the fine sciences of the earth? Nay, lass, I am not one of them."

"Then—"

He brought his lips close to her ear to whisper. "I've laughed so hard! For folks do not see the difference between those gentle practitioners of the earth and those of us who have seen and recognized the true power."

"True power?"

"Satan!" he thundered to her, looking around. Then he whispered once again. "Lucifer, the great laird of Darkness. Ah, but I find myself so well amused that we may play, rob, debauch, kill... and what strange things happen are laid at the doorstep of the Wiccans! Yet, of course, my means are twofold. I am high priest—and one by one, lass, I will manage to do away with all those who stand in my way."

"Uncle Lowell, you can't want to kill me."

"Ah, Shawna, there, lass, you are sorely mistaken. I always intended you for this night, but I wanted the other girl as well, for her innocence. Still, the laird of Darkness seeks a sacrifice such as yourself, a lusty young maid, as proved, and alas, the world is fully aware of your sins of the flesh—but you are beautiful and young. Your death will bring about power you cannot begin to imagine!"

"Uncle Lowell, you don't believe that for a moment."

"You are going to die."

"You're mad."

She, too, was mad, Shawna thought, feeling hysteria growing within her. What if a miracle occurred and she convinced her uncle he shouldn't kill her? She was in a cave in the earth, surrounded by his followers. She didn't know how long she had been here, and she was terrified that she couldn't be helped. The caverns in the cliffs were endless. David's selkie's lair had been one such as this; these wretches had not stumbled upon David's lair.

And he had not stumbled upon theirs.

"Of course, I'd wanted the child as well for this night in particular," Lowell said.

Her heart quickened. "What child?"

"Now, Shawna, y'are no fool. Your child. Laird Douglas's bastard. A child is the best sacrifice to be had. A child of five, precisely, but when you brought the boy to the castle, I knew I dared wait no longer to take him. You should have all died. Eventually, I would have got to the others. Gawain might have expired of old age. Alistair has always been reckless; Alaric might have been a bit harder to kill. Ah, Shawna! Why do you think I let you live after the fire? To bear the child, so that I could nurture the boy to the right age, lass. I let you live all the time after, because I wanted you to die with your son, the last of David Douglas and Shawna MacGinnis, their offspring, all together. The land should have been mine. All of it. Douglases never cared for it right. And as for MacGinnis property, I was the youngest son, but the strongest. When you create a cult such as this one, you accrue yourself followers who will do any deed for you. And eventually, you gain all that you want. But as for tonight, well, it will not be all I wanted. Douglas stole the boy on me. And as I said, an innocent maid is quite good, but you cost me young Sabrina as well. Yet what you have cost me can be repaid with your blood, my dear. I'd hoped to slay you at the stone—that would have been fitting. But you are the MacGinnis. And you must be slain properly. There was no time at the stone. But here... well, here, the ceremony will be far more complete."

She realized that Lowell had been a part of her life, and a part of the lives of every member of her family. They had loved him; he was one of them. But he'd meant to kill them all, and claim both MacGinnis and Douglas land for his own. "They will be looking for me right now!"

"Perhaps. They'll never find you."

"They will know that you are a murderer, Uncle Lowell. They will all be searching for me, and you will not be among them."

"They will not notice that I am not running here and there with the others," he said.

"You cannot keep this up and survive!" she claimed.

His old face crinkled deeply for a moment. "You do not know the power of Satan, child. But soon, 'tis his bride in blood you will be this night!"

He swung around, his cloak swirling with him. He lifted his hand, and suddenly, the chanting stopped.

Even those who had argued with him began to sway. Now, they all waited.

With breathless anticipation.

The markings of Satan had been painted on her naked flesh in blood.

She was ready.

Lowell drew a wicked handled blade high to ripple silver in the glow of a half-dozen torches and the myriad candles.

"Laird of Darkness, accept this sacrifice!" Lowell suddenly cried out.

Chanting began again. And Lowell started to walk around the altar where she lay.

Her mouth went dry with terror.

He was going to kill her.

Any moment now, any second, he would slay her. He had no more interest in hearing anything else that she might have to say, and he had nothing more to say to her.

She was surrounded by faceless, cloaked figures, and she was going to die.

Just when she had discovered that she'd had a child. Seized and stolen from her by these wretched, bloodthirsty lunatics. A child they might well have taken tonight for his innocent blood. A child Lowell had kept alive just for the right time to kill....