Shot Through The Heart (Supernature Book 1) (22 page)

As he carried the tray over to their table, laden with four pints and two glasses of white wine, Mark felt more stressed than at any time since he'd got there. They'd been the first in the bar - at Adam's insistence - and had laid claim to one of the better tables, with a view of the bar, and through large doors into the dancehall. Mark hadn't been aware of them before - they'd been covered by two tables, now moved for the evening's entertainment.

The dancehall must have dated back to the village's heyday in the Victorian era when trainloads of tourists alighted at Kinbrace and stayed for a few days shooting in the glens or boating on the lochs. It was two floors high, which explained the odd stair layout he'd noticed. The room was decorated in the same style as the rest of the hotel, but to a much higher standard.

He put the tray down and sat between Adam and Kay, stopping their conversation.

"Who else are you buying for?" asked Adam.

"Just us," said Mark. He distributed the drinks around the table, two each. "The bar is getting busy and I didn't think they were going to be able to keep up, so I got in early."

"You look tired," said Kay.

"Tell me about it," said Mark.

He hadn't manage to get any sleep - at least, not that he remembered - but the four hours he'd spent dozing in bed with the curtains drawn should have been just what he'd needed. Instead he'd got a sore shoulder.

He'd lain there, worrying and wondering about Sarah. He'd tried calling her a few times but it had gone straight through to voicemail. At the back of his head was a nagging worry that she'd got on a train and was heading north.

John's death, Kay's reappearance, the dogs, the mounting word count, the three chapters that he'd have to tear apart based on some of Kay's notes and …

"Can't believe it's actually been allowed to happen," said Adam.

"Nothing would stop this," said Kay. "Nothing."

Mark lifted his pint. "To John Rennie," he said, echoed by Kay and Adam.

It felt insensitive, but Mark was intent on getting out of his skull in tribute to John - he doubted he'd make the actual funeral, so a one-man wake would have to do.

The room was seriously filling up, though Mark realised that the crowd was maybe seventy percent men.

Mark leaned over and pointed it out to Kay. "You might be in luck," he said.

Kay rolled her eyes. "You've had too much to drink already," she said.

Mark curled back in on himself. He was starting to feel a little more drunk than he probably should be - he couldn't remember eating, and he'd already had three pints of strong ale. There had been promise of haggis, neaps and tatties or an alternate choice of stovies with oatcakes, but nothing had turned up so far.

"I'm okay," said Mark.

Kay nodded. "Just keep buying me drinks and we'll saying nothing of it," she said.

"All I'm saying," said Mark, "is that a single girl like you might get lucky tonight."

"Who says I
want
to get lucky?" asked Kay.

Mark shrugged. "Forget about it," he said.

"Besides," said Kay, "it's Mr Mathieson that I've got eyes for."

"Mmm?" asked Adam, looking over.

Kay laughed. "Just checking that you were listening," she said. She gestured into the dancehall. "There are plenty of young fillies looking for a buck like you."

Adam gave a leering smile. "Sure are," he said. "There sure are."

Mark realised that Adam was looking at one of Elizabeth's daughters, the youngest of the three. He couldn't remember any of their names, maybe she was called Clarissa. He felt a jolt hit his skull as he recalled John's nickname for her children - the students. He'd almost managed to keep it out of his consciousness but there it was, slapping him about the head.

John should have been there, holding court as was his manner. Instead, he was lying in a morgue van halfway to Inverness, while the trail grew colder.

Mark was frustrated by the fact that he didn't know anything about John's death - he liked to get under the skin of things, find out as much as he possibly could, but he'd been rebuffed by the police officer, treated like a crank. Nobody seemed to believe him, about the dogs and the threat they posed. He didn't think he would mention it again.

Kay looked over at him. "Did I tell you that I did some research into the Ruthven midsummer ceilidh?" she asked.

Mark slowly shook his head, secretly dreading the possibility that she might reopen yet another chapter in the book. "Go on," he said, realising that he was already a good way down the first of the two pints, his fourth of the night.

"It's been held every year since the early 1800s," said Kay. "It's always on midsummer's night, when the water in the loch is at its lowest point. I thought it was funny it was on a Tuesday night, but it makes sense, I suppose. Nice to see a tradition like that persisting."

Mark gave a deep sigh. "Please tell me there's no actual link to the Highland Clearances," he said, "and I can just ignore it."

Kay laughed, but shared a curious look with Adam. "Relax, Mark," she said. "You can keep it out." She shared another look with Adam. "You know, you're being a bit funny about your book just now."

"Am I?" asked Mark.

Adam nodded. "You are, mate," he said. "I've never known anyone to get as obsessed as you are, like."

"I'm the only one working on it," said Mark. "It's really hard. It's just me."

"What about me?" asked Kay

"You're not writing it," said Mark, "and besides, you've been missing for the last week."

"You've got an editor," said Kay.

"Yeah, I've got an editor," said Mark. He took a big dent out of the second pint, noticing that Adam was managing to keep pace, though. "But I've got to give her something that's actually worth editing, you know?"

"I'm happy to read it," said Kay. "I'll do it for free."

Mark sighed. "Maybe," he said.

Someone started tapping on the microphone in the dancehall. They looked over - one of the Lost Boys, doubling as the band's drummer, was grinning at the room, waiting for silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the drummer. Mark couldn't remember which one he was, maybe the butcher. "Thanks go to every one of you for attending tonight. As you all know, this is one of the highlights in the social calendar in the Highlands, but it's also a tradition in my adopted family for us to have this festival and celebrate our culture."

He paused then grimaced, biting his lip while he looked around the room.

"You'll all know that John Rennie passed away," said the drummer. "John was a regular attendee of these ceilidhs and he'd have hated to see it cancelled. We'll all be dancing with heavy hearts tonight, but we do it knowing that it's what John would have wanted." He took a deep breath, then held up his glass. "Please raise your glass in a toast to John."

The audience echoed the last two words and lifted their glasses to their lips. Mark looked around the room and saw some sad faces, a few nodding their heads to some unseen memory.

The drummer's expression morphed into a wide smile. "I'm sure you'll all love to know that I could talk for at least another hour," he said, "but I won't. Instead I'm going to sit down at the drums and start playing."

A loud cheer went up.

"But first," said the drummer, "I wanted to hand over to my mother-in-law for a few words. This is her tradition - she'll not thank me for saying it, but she's been keeping it alive for longer than most of you would think." He grinned at someone in the crowd beneath him. "Before we get down to some Gay Gordons, Here's Lady Elizabeth Ruthven."

There was loud applause and Mark spotted a young woman mount the stage. He assumed it was one of the daughters then it dawned on him it was Elizabeth. She was transformed. The only word he could think of was
vixen
. She looked voluptuous, her curves accentuated by her tight purple dress. Her hair hung about her shoulders in tight ringlets.

She was speaking but Mark didn't really listen to the words - he was captivated by her. A great many of the men in the room seemed to be, too - a group of lads at the entrance were sharing leery comments. There was loud applause at something she said, before she skipped back down to the dance floor.

The drummer spoke into the microphone on his drum kit, instructing the men to find a partner for the Gay Gordons.

Kay was on her feet. "Which of you two lovely blokes is going to come dancing with me?" she asked.

Mark and Adam looked at each other, Mark realising that this was one of the few occasions where they agreed on something.

"Maybe later," said Adam.

"Aye, maybe later," said Mark.

Kay shook her head then finished the rest of her wine, leaving another on the table. "Well, I'll see you pair later," she said.

They watched her sashaying into the dancehall, hips swaying side by side as she prowled around looking for a partner.

"I'd love to see her pair later," said Adam. He pointed at Mark's glass. "You want a top-up?"

Mark nodded and thought of John Rennie again. "Get us a whisky," he said.

"Double coming right up," said Adam, as he got to his feet.

Mark couldn't remember the name of the dance - the amount of whisky he'd drunk might have something to do with that.

He'd got paired up with Elizabeth for this one. They were at the head of a group, the lead woman dancing with him, the lead man then dancing with her, looping round until they circled back to the start of the group, him facing her again. Mark was proud of being able to lead a complex dance, especially when staying on his feet was a significant challenge.

The dance ended and they were applauded. She turned to face him, her cheeks were full of colour and her eyes alive with mischief. He was captivated by her, and she knew it.

She stepped forward as the drummer gave instructions for the next dance, clasping his hand and placing it on her right hip. It accidentally touched her breast on the way down. Mark glanced down then up, her right nipple was hard and showing through the dress. He swallowed hard as she pulled him close, her pelvis grinding into his.

The kick drum thudded and they started dancing slowly. He felt her hands on his buttocks and she clung tightly to him. She nuzzled on his neck, Mark feeling her teeth nibble at his neck, then her tongue lick his ear. Her left hand was suddenly over his crotch.

He reached over and whispered into her ear.

"Do you want to come back to my room?" he asked.

The alarm went off at six. Mark reached across the chest of the drawers beside the bed, eventually prodding the correct spot to stop the racket.

His head felt like it was imploding.

The sunlight cut through the curtains and then, in turn, through his eyelids. He slowly lifted them. The room spun around. He was still drunk. His eyes settled on two almost empty wine bottles on the desk.

He closed his eyes again, muttering about how much of an idiot he was. He'd had beer, then whisky -
lots
of whisky - and then wine.

He suddenly remembered he hadn't been alone.

Elizabeth.

He sat bolt upright. Lady Elizabeth Ruthven had come back to his room. He'd asked her.

She wasn't there. He was alone.

He desperately tried to clear the fog from his mind, to try to remember what had happened, whether she'd been lady-like or not.

He could picture dancing with her.

He could remember touching her breast - entirely by accident - her hand on his crotch, and then things escalating.

He just couldn't remember how far.

He slumped back against the mattress. His hand reached down and inspected his genitals - he was wearing his boxers, which was a start. There was no trace of semen, but he could have had a shower. He figured if he'd had a shower without remembering, perhaps the Guinness Book of Records should get a call.

He had absolutely no idea what had happened.

He inspected the room for evidence. If nothing else, it would distract him from his inevitable hangover, still percolating.

He picked up his phone and searched through his emails, texts and tweets, with a nagging feeling he'd sent something inappropriate. His search came back null - no drunken boasts or anything else. He couldn't remember setting the alarm.

Putting his phone back, he saw a sheet of paper on the chest of drawers, folded in half. He picked it up and unfolded it. It simply read
'thank you for what you gave me last night, E x'
.

Lying back on the bed, he tried to work out precisely what the hell he did give her?

Herpes?

Multiple orgasms?

The keys to the kingdom?

He sighed, he'd better get a shift on. There were only ninety minutes until the train and he had to cycle while out of his box. He went to the desk, throwing things back in his laptop case. He couldn't find the card he'd got from the Esoterica shop.

He finished packing and did a final check of the room, making sure he hadn't left anything. Clear. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

Elizabeth stood there, clutching a mobile phone.

Mark couldn't make eye contact.

She gave a coy smile. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" she asked.

"I'm just leaving," said Mark.

Elizabeth frowned. "You're what?" she asked.

"Look, I told you the last time we had dinner," said Mark, "I need to get back to Edinburgh."

"After what we did last night?" asked Elizabeth.

Mark blushed. "I can't remember anything," he said.

"Please stay with me," said Elizabeth, her face sagging with a vulnerability he hadn't noticed before.

He couldn't decide what to do. He yawned. "Look, I seriously need to get a shift on," he said. "I'm cutting it fine if I want to get back to Edinburgh by a decent hour."

Elizabeth looked down. "Very well," she said.

"Look," said Mark, "you're welcome to stay in the room until you're kicked out."

Her face brightened at that. "Thank you," she said. "When will I see you again?"

"I don't know," said Mark. "I might be back, I might not. I don't know."