Sword Dance (14 page)

Suddenly the letter almost burned his hand and he stuffed it into his pocket without opening it. ‘I don't want anything to do with that letter. Lies, deception, pain and death, that's all it ever caused.' His tone grew bitter. ‘That's all Niall McRae had ever brought my mother and me. In fact, I should burn it straightaway.'

A faint voice called from the other side of the room.

‘It's Lady Patricia.' Rose ran to the bed where McRae's mother was trying to sit up. ‘What happened here and where are Cameron and Doctor Kilroy?'

‘Who are you?' Lady Patricia stared at Rose with small, suspicious eyes. ‘Never mind… That crazy woman came in and shot that man over there'

‘What woman?'

‘Morag. She wants her revenge, after all those years. A son for a son, that's what she said…' Lady Patricia took a laboured breath. She pointed an accusing finger at Bruce. ‘It's all because of you!'

‘She must have followed me through the tunnel,' Rose said. She turned to Bruce. ‘She's very fragile, Bruce, and very ill.'

‘She didn't look that fragile when she shot the man over there,' Lady Patricia sneered. ‘But I suppose her sort are as tough as weeds.'

‘Enough!' Bruce said through clenched teeth. ‘Do you know where they went?'

‘She said she wanted to kill Cameron on top of the tower, and forced the doctor and my son to follow her. She wasn't making much sense.' Lady Patricia closed her eyes and let out a sigh.

‘I'm going after them. Rose, you stay here.'

He didn't wait for her answer but strode out of the room, claymore in hand.

Chapter Ten

The door at the top of the spiral staircase was wide open onto the foggy night. Like every night a fire blazed high in the beacon at the centre of the tower to warn passing ships of the dangers of the rocky coastline. Muffled voices drifted towards Bruce, among which he recognised Kilroy's and McRae's. He heaved a sigh of relief. Thank God he wasn't too late and Morag hadn't shot either of them yet. Despite the pain pulsing through his chest, he hurried to the centre of the platform.

‘Give me that rifle, Morag,' he said when he was close.

She swung towards him, alarm painted on her gaunt face. ‘Bruce. My God, you're hurt! Your face, your jacket… You're bleeding.'

‘I'm fine. Don't worry.' He held his hand out. ‘Give me the rifle, please.'

She shook her head. ‘You don't understand. Lady Patricia must pay for what she did to my family, and the best revenge I can think of is to take her worthless son from her.'

She pointed to McRae with the barrel of her rifle.

‘Morag, please listen to me,' Bruce coaxed in a softer voice. ‘I don't want you to shoot McRae. He may be a pathetic excuse for a man, but he's my…' he swallowed hard as the words stuck like fish bones in his throat, ‘my half-brother.'

‘That's right, McGunn,' McRae cut in then, ‘tell your housekeeper to stop her nonsense. Let's all go back inside. It's freezing out here and I could do with a drink.'

‘I know full well who he is and it doesn't make a blind bit of difference to me,' Morag said, ignoring McRae. Her hair flew around her face and her eyes were like dark pools. In the space of two weeks, she had become an old woman – a woman dangerously unhinged.

‘Why do you think Lady Patricia wanted me to get rid of you and your mother?' Morag carried on. ‘She was consumed by hatred and jealousy. She knew Niall only married her because he had no choice, and that the woman he really loved was Bonnie. She wanted the letter, but most of all she wanted you and your mother dead.'

He frowned. ‘What are you saying?'

But suddenly he knew. So that was why she'd begged for his forgiveness over and over again after being taken ill in Balnakeil cemetery.

‘Are you saying that my mother didn't kill herself…' He spoke slowly, detaching every syllable, ‘but that you killed her? Are you saying that that you pushed my mother to her death?'

Chilled to the bone, he stared at the woman who had raised him. The only mother he'd ever known. It was like seeing her for the first time. She was a madwoman, a liar and a murderess. How could you live with someone for so long and still not know them?

Morag shook her head. ‘No… I didn't push her, I only gave her a little of draught to make her sleepy, and make her forget her pain. It wasn't my fault she went out on the cliffs that night and fell to her death. I told Lady Patricia I'd done it so that she would release my man and my son from prison, but she wanted you dead as well, and that I couldn't do… I could never hurt you.' She let out a whimper. ‘Please don't hate me, Bruce. I always loved you like a son. Please…'

Something broke inside him but he ignored it and instead focussed on hardening his face, his voice, his heart.

‘Get out of my sight. I never want to see you ever again. As far as I'm concerned, you're as good as dead.'

With a heart-wrenching sob Morag dropped the rifle to the ground and stepped out of the light. The fog clung to her silhouette like a shroud before swallowing her as she ran away.

‘Where is she going?' Kilroy asked.

Bruce shrugged. ‘I don't know and I don't care.'

‘It wasn't really her fault, you know,' Rose's voice said close to him. ‘She told me it was an accident you mother fell to her death.'

He turned to stare down at her. Once again the woman had followed him and disregarded his instructions. And what's more, she was taking Morag's side. ‘You knew about this?'

She nodded.

‘And you weren't you going to say anything?' he asked in a low, growling voice as bitterness and anger burned his insides.

‘It wasn't my secret to tell.'

‘No, you're dead right. It was mine. It was about me and my mother.'

So Rose too had betrayed him. Pain tore at his flesh like poisoned claws.

‘McGunn, watch out!' Kilroy shouted out.

Too late. McRae picked up Morag's rifle and pointed it at him. Bruce pushed Rose behind him to protect her with his body and lifted the sword in front of him.

‘You shouldn't be so careless, McGunn, and leave weapons lying around,' McRae chuckled before turning to Kilroy. ‘Go back inside now and take care of my mother.'

Kilroy started to protest but McRae pointed the rifle at Bruce's chest and he had no choice but to turn round and do as he was told.

‘Drop that sword, McGunn,' McRae ordered then. ‘It's useless, anyway, you don't stand a chance against the rifle.'

The man was right. He had the upper hand for now, so Bruce let the claymore fall to the ground.

‘Now give me my father's letter. I'm sure Rose handed it over to you.'

Bruce narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders. ‘Why don't you shoot me now and be done with it?'

‘Bruce, no,' Rose whispered as she clung to him, so close he felt her warmth and the hard beating of her heart against his back.

McRae smiled. ‘Tempting proposition, but I'd rather make sure I have the letter before I do anything rash.'

What choice did he have? He was going to die anyway. If not there and now, shot by his half-brother, he would hang for murder at the next Thurso assizes, or he would be killed by the datura that had already destroyed his body and mind.

All that mattered was to secure Rose's safety.

She pressed her body against Bruce's back, in a futile attempt to give him some of her strength and warmth.

‘If you want the letter, then you must swear you'll let Rose return to Algiers unharmed,' Bruce said. ‘You owe her that much, don't you think?'

Cameron snorted. ‘You're far too chivalrous… What about you? Don't you want to save your own skin? You could leave Wrath with Rose on the
Sea Eagle
and settle in that God-awful land of hers.'

Hope filled Rose for the space of a heartbeat, then shattered in a thousand pieces.

‘McGunns don't run away,' Bruce replied in a cold voice. ‘I won't abandon my people. I told you before. I'll stand trial and clear my name – or not.'

Cameron narrowed his eyes, then shrugged. ‘As you wish. I promise I'll take Rose to the
Sea Eagle
and ask Captain Kennedy to sail back to Algiers with her when he's ready. Are you satisfied now?'

Bruce drew in a long breath. ‘I suppose I'll have to be. Here you are, then, take that blasted letter.' He pulled the envelope he hadn't even opened out of his coat and handed it to Cameron who stared at it for a few seconds then walked straight to the beacon and threw it into the flames.

Rose gasped. ‘You didn't even read it!'

‘Why would I want to read it? I have no interest in my fool of a father's love life or in what he planned to do with his fortune – with my fortune. That bloody letter cost my poor mother far too many tears.'

‘Somehow I can't imagine your mother crying,' Bruce remarked dryly. ‘She didn't hesitate to blackmail Morag into committing murder, and then she sent her husband and son to their death. Who else, I wonder, did she dispose of? Donald Robertson, for one. The man was stabbed before he could reveal who had paid him to get rid of Captain Pichet.'

‘She did what she had to do to protect Westmore,' McRae spat, anger twisting his mouth. ‘And I shall do the same.'

He let out a curse as he tripped on the claymore which reflected the beacon's tall, golden flames like a smooth, shiny mirror. Like Morven before him, Cameron's eyes darkened as he stared at the glowing blade.

‘What on earth…' He swung round to look behind him then looked at the sword again.

‘How is that possible? There's the shadow of a woman on the blade yet there's nobody here.'

‘I can't see anything,' Bruce said.

‘She's there, I'm telling you, and she's coming towards me,' Cameron's breathless voice replied.

‘You're imagining things, McRae.'

Rose narrowed her eyes to peer into the night. Perhaps Morag had come back to help Bruce… or perhaps it was just a shadow dancing in the foggy moonlight.

‘I don't want her anywhere near me,' Cameron said in a panicked voice as he waved the rifle around. ‘Tell her to leave me alone…'

‘Tell who? I told you there was no one here.'

Look out for him, dancing girl.

It wasn't even a whisper, but a sigh, a breath of warm air tickling her hair and cheek. This time, she knew who was talking. It wasn't Morag, and it wasn't a dream.

‘Noelie,' she said softly as the air around her moved and shifted and a faint scent of pine surrounded her like a fine mist. Noelie – the Dark Lady – was there, watching over Bruce once again, like she'd been downstairs with Morven.

Look out. It's the end, I'll take the devil with me.

‘Who are you talking to?' Cameron asked, a hard, murderous glint in his eyes. ‘You can see her, too, can't you? Or is it some trick you and McGunn are playing on me? Yes, that's it. I understand now. You're both trying to drive me crazy.'

He lifted the rifle, aimed at Bruce and crooked his finger on the trigger. ‘Well, I won't let you,
brother
. I'll kill you now, take your woman and rule over your land. And the McRaes will be avenged.'

Just then his eyes opened wide in terror and he stared at the sword glowing on the ground once more. ‘Tell her to leave me alone. Tell her to go away,' he screamed.

Like a drunken man, he staggered forward, straight into the beacon which tipped over and crashed to the ground with a thundering noise. Flames immediately leapt and clawed at his legs like hot, greedy fingers, and he howled in pain as they crept up his body, and set his body, his face and hair alight.

Rose pressed her fist hard against her mouth. Even Bruce stood still, seemingly unable to move as his half-brother lurched across the platform and waved his arms in a useless plea for help. Cameron fell back against the battlements with such force he dislodged several stones. Now there was nothing between him and the roaring abyss below.

‘McRae! No!' Bruce shouted as he started running.

It was too late. Cameron's body tipped over the edge and disappeared into the void.

Chapter Eleven

Bruce wouldn't let Kilroy tend to him until everything at Wrath was in order, and it was dawn when both men finally went up to his study. His chest only started to hurt – really hurt – when he took his blood-soaked jacket and shirt off. He almost welcomed the physical pain. At least it took his mind off the anguish, the fear and the despair he felt inside.

Whilst Kilroy gathered what he needed to see to his wound, Bruce stared out of the window. The fog had lifted and fiery streaks slashed through the night sky like claws tearing through a velvet cloak. A light breeze ruffled the surface of the sea. It was the perfect weather for a ship to set sail.

‘You are one lucky man,' Kilroy announced after examining his chest. ‘Although it bled quite a lot, the wound doesn't appear to be serious and there shouldn't be any lasting damage – apart from ridding you of that weird tattoo of yours, that is. You've a deep cut there I'll have to stitch.'

Too busy grinding his teeth as Kilroy dabbed antiseptic on his chest before sewing up the wound, Bruce didn't reply. It didn't matter about the damned tattoo anymore. If there was one thing he knew now, it was that he'd been wrong about it all along. It was never a curse and had had no part in his descent into madness. The poison McNeil had fed him every day for the last six months had been the cause – the poison he still had inside him and, which he feared, was slowly destroying him.

‘Will I get better in time, Kilroy?' he asked when the doctor finished bandaging his chest.

Kilroy nodded. ‘Of course. I just told you there was no lasting damage.'

‘I'm not talking about this scratch, but about my strength and my sanity. Will I ever be able to remember what I did under the influence of the datura, or will I forever be plagued by chest pains, headaches, hallucinations and memory loss?'