Return to Rhonan (16 page)

La
y
ing her head
on his chest,
Jess’s
eyes closed fe
el
i
ng
the
warmth of the
sun on her face, his arm gently holding her.  Cl
o
sing her eyes, she nuzzled nearer as sleep overtook her.

She awakened to something tickling the sole of her foot, opening
her eyes; she
saw him kneeling on the blanket beside a picnic basket.
 

‘Okay my little mermaid
– food. Let’s eat.’ 

Sitting up, she smiled grinned watching him setting out chicken infused with thyme and sage, king prawns in a light Marie Rose sauce, fresh lettuce with chopped tomatoes, cucumber and the scent of coriander.
Bringing
out a small bottle of champagne from the ice box he said, ‘Let’s celebrate.’

‘What?’

‘Us –
now I know I’ve captured a siren, a mermaid.’
Grinning, he winked mischievously.

For a moment Jess caught her breath – mermaid?  Wasn’t that what Duncan called Muriall?  Shrugging she let it go.  She couldn’t keep dwelling on it.

As Jessie bit down on a slice of chicken, she said, ‘Don’t you swim at all?’

‘No, I have a thing about
water; I'm
okay swimming in the sea but for some reason, I can’t stand lakes.’

‘Have you ever tried?’

‘Nope, anyway forget it. Let’s enjoy the meal.’

Jess remained silent.  He obviously was not happy talking about it. 

Treading back through the bog, her body tingling from his attentions, Jessie didn’t mind the mud spattered sneakers. His whispers flooded her mind, especially as he murmured; they should do it again soon.  As she clutched her bag, she remembered the locket.  Would it be a good time to tell him? Why not?  After all, one of the reasons she was here was to find her ancestors, her origins – one of Prissy’s ambitions, before death took her so cruelly.

She’d often talked about coming to Scotland to search for the ancestors, but they’d never known where to start. All Prissy had were the two scraps of paper, both water stained with most of the writing obliterated. As they passed the Orangery, Jess saw a wooden seat nestling between Syringa bushes still sweet scented although no longer in bloom.  ‘Douglas, d’you mind if we sit for a moment? I have something to show you.’

For some reason, she felt nervous even as he hugged her close when they sat.  Taking the fragments of paper from her purse, she said, ‘One of the reasons I came over here was because I wanted to search for my ancestors. We know that my ancestor lived in a shack in
America
, actually built a lodging house for the lumberjacks.  Her name was Morag, but that’s as far back as we can trace.  Sadly, all she had were these two scraps of papers. One story is that they were given to her by the ship’s doctor.  But, there’s no way we can trace that.  There were so many ships, so many lost at sea.  It’s a shame really as it was Prissy’s dream. And then there’s this.  She handed him the velvet bundle containing the locket. It’s only small, no value, but to us, it's a family heirloom.’

Douglas examined the two scraps of paper ‘What a shame, the water’s almost dissolved the ink.  I can see Mur ... could be Muriall and yes the ‘R’ could stand for Rhonan.  I haven’t heard many names starting with Mur ... might be able to track it down.’

Lifting the locket from the velvet pad he said, ‘This is quite beautiful.  Turning it over, he read out the inscription on the back ‘Forever United LDR to MM
1810.’

Jess said, ‘Open it.’  She held her breath. 
Surely,
he would recognize himself?’

Douglas felt his body tighten a slow buzz in his head; the portrait was him, and dammit there was no mistaking the looks. ‘Good God, so these are over two hundred years old.’ He examined the gold, then looked down at the inscription once more. ‘The letters could stand for Lord Duncan to Muriall something or other.’

Jess pursed her lips smiling impishly.  She was so excited. ‘Exactly.  Look at the two braids of hair, one black the other red. I know they’re dusty and faded, but it does point to—’

‘Is this a trick?’  Douglas’s tones razed her ears like sharpened steel ‘When did you paint this portrait?  Last week?  How many of these do you think I’ve been presented with – too many. Ever since I inherited the Hotel I’ve had these bloody people claiming to be the true heir of Rhonan.  Every damn fraudster produces one. As for the locket, it’s hardly tarnished to be such an age.  Jess why have you done this?  You’re breaking my heart. Don’t tell me this is a fraud?  
Really,
what do you take me for?’

Jess felt her heart pumping in her head.  ‘Douglas what are you saying?’

‘You know ... why do you need Rhonan?  You have an
empire; hotels
strung across the world. Why Rhonan?  You are making out you’re the lost heir aren’t you. I’ve seen so many of these bloody portraits all claiming to be of Duncan. It makes me sick?’

‘Douglas what’s wrong – why are you so angry?’

‘Angry?  Too right I’m bloody angry.  So many fraudsters creep along with so bits of birth certificates, bits of marriage certificates, bits of
hair; even
old dolls with messages sewn
into
them. Every trick in the trade – dresses – shoes. Lying through their bloody teeth. How could you do this? I’ve fallen in love with you for Christ’s sake. How could you?’

He stopped, his jaw bunching into a white knot as he gazed at her beautiful face, the skin blanching, her mouth open. Pushing the papers and locket into her hands,   he said, ‘Tell me it’s not true Jess – tell me you’re joking – I can’t take this. I stand to lose everything Jess, the hotel but most of all my daughter.’  He punched the wooden seat with his fist making her jump, winced as he punched it again, drawing blood.

Jess watched as he jumped up, the blood seeping from his knuckles, watched him walk away, her heart juddering, breaking. Leaping
up,
she threw the papers and locket in her bag, the tears stinging her eyes, spilling, burning her cheeks. He’d ripped her heart out – the bastard.

CHAPTER 2
4

The sea swelled and retreated like the bosom of a morose woman.  Reining in the horses, Duncan watched Muriall and Meg clamber up to a shack in dunes over thirty feet high.  As usual, Muriall insisted on her breeches and frock coat, only red hair tangling to her waist gave away her sex. Had she any idea of the danger she was in?

She could be a vixen at times.  Furious that he insisted on escorting her, she’d left him with words sharper than sleet.  ‘I’m sick of your damn face, will you stop following me around.’  She matched him in swordplay, temper and in bed, but in these perilous times, he would tolerate no argument.

High in the sandy slopes, an old man gnarled with age, crept from the shack, hunger gnawing flesh from his bones, spittle brown from tobacco, drooling from a toothless mouth.    Stumbling after him, a hag with dirt brown skirts torn and filthy, hair wild and white about her shoulders screeched at the two women.  ‘Tis too dangerous for you to be here come in quickly.’

As Muriall went to hug the man, he shuffled back crying, ‘Don’t be coming near me, I stink of the sickness.  All we have left is rotting seaweed and nettles.

Wailing the old woman pulled her soiled apron over her face. ‘The Master has forced the people to clear the land.
Now the Sidhe is angry with us; we are cursed
Muriall – cursed.
They are destroying the fairy forts; nothing is left for them.’

Although professing to be devout Catholics,, they  still worshipped the old Gods, holding them in deep respect and fear.
Holding on to their scrawny
arms,
Muriall guided the two elderly people into the mud shack. 

Meg her stepsister followed trying not to retch from the stench within the windowless interior.  She said, ‘We’ve brought you some food and warm clothes. I see you’ve pawned the chairs.’         

Muriall shook her head.’ I’m so sorry – so ashamed of the Earl allowing this to happen. But now, Nathrach, come try the clothes on.’

With bowed shoulders shaking from the bitter wind driving off the sea, the old man shrugged on the tweed jacket whilst Ena retired behind a ragged curtain.   

She emerged lifting a hem of burgundy wool. ‘To be sure tis meself is the lady now.’ She tried to smile through the blackened stumps of teeth.  

Muriall stemmed her tears as she watched the old couple unwrap the fresh food, slices of cooked ham, chicken thighs,
hard-boiled eggs
and soft white rolls and curls of freshly churned butter.

‘Och Muriall, you and your dear sister are so good to
us; without
you, we would be dying now.’   Ena’s black eyes peered out of rolls of crinkled skin. ‘We canna live on seaweed all the time.  Nathrach here had to walk miles to find something we could eat, but he came back with nothing.’

Nathrach stopped chewing on a piece of ham as he said, ‘Aye. The kelpers strip the sea bare, taking all the seaweed. There is none for us to sell. We are finished – without
you, we
would walk into the sea’

‘Hush now dear Nathrach.  Once you saved my life.  I will not leave you now.’ Impulsively she quickly kissed his cheek. ‘Don’t go sharing it.  I know it’s hard but you have to live.  I can’t come every day.  It has to last.’  However, Muriall knew that the old couple would share the last morsel with their neighbours or anyone who entered the old shack.                                                         

Standing at the water’s edge, Duncan looking up the beach, noticed the fluttering tatters of a figure shambling towards him, knees bent outwards, shoulders hunched.  As it drew closer, he observed it was a young man, the eyes almost slanting in the skeletal face.

Speaking in the Gaelic, he said, ‘Master, yerself must have this.’    The man drew a tattered parchment from the folds of dirty clothing. 

Duncan’s stomach tightened as he read the ominous words scrawled in what appeared to be dried blood.  ‘Ye are destroying our homes and now ye take the very food from the hungry mouths of our babes.  Death to the Devil who forced us from our heritage, our land.  Death to the devil, who has driven us into the very sea.  Death will visit the House of Rhonan.’

Black eyebrows beetling together, Duncan’s eyes took on the colour of a winter sea.   The group
was
serious.  This was no longer the wild and rugged land of mountain and loch, of proud chieftain and loyal clan. It was as if Hell had descended to earth and seized the very heart of man in talons of tin, squeezing out the last drop of blood. He knew there wasn’t any point in giving the fellow
money; bartering
seemed to be the only method of exchange these days. He plucked out a gold pin from his lapel.  ‘Here take this and buy food for you and your family.’ Bowing in a dignified manner, the starving man shambled away.

Grimacing Duncan vowed he would fight for the tenants on the large estates, these Highland warriors and their families, dragged from their beds without warning, their homes burnt over their heads even as they struggled to dress, to snatch a few precious belongings. 

It was a wretched business – starving tenants, now this death threat. His father must be brought to heel. He had to help them, had to ensure the Earl did not drive the tenants from Rhonan to starve.

C
HAPTER
2
5

Scrabbling in her bag for her sunglasses, Jess slipped them on.  She kept her head down hoping she wouldn’t meet anyone. She needed to get to her room fast, to shut the door on everything and everyone.  

She felt someone grab her arm.  She stiffened; surely, he hadn’t come back?  She felt a rush of rage and then a surge of disappointment, as she heard Dinah’s voice. ‘For God’s sake Jess what’s up?’

As her cousin hugged her, Jess said, ‘I can’t talk. I just can’t....’

‘Come on let’s get you upstairs.’

She didn’t want Dinah with her, couldn’t face anyone seeing her like this. ‘I’m okay; I just need to be alone right now.’

‘Do you think I’d leave you like this? Come on.’

Once inside the Mermaid Suite, Dinah went to the drinks' cabinet. Pouring a good measure of brandy, she handed it Jess. ‘Come
on,
get that down you.  What on earth has happened?’

Sipping the brandy, Jess felt it sting her throat, warm her stomach. 

‘Come on Jess, what’s happened?’

‘It’s a mess Dinah, a mess.’

There were no secrets between them, Jess let out the events of the afternoon, the laughter, kisses, the swim, the love that ended in horror.

Dinah crossed her arms angrily, ‘How the hell could he do that.  As if you’re bloody well interested in his hotel, God you could buy this place with the petty cash.’