Sword Dance (17 page)

He paused. ‘So when Kilroy assured me I was free at last from the effects of the datura, when I secured the future of Wrath and paid off all my grandfather's debts, I left MacBoyd and his new wife Agnes in charge and set off for Algiers with Wallace and Fraser.'

‘Agnes married MacBoyd? How lovely… But I don't understand why you said you had to pay off your grandfather's debts. Didn't the judge recognise you as Niall McRae's son? When Doctor Kilroy wrote that you'd been cleared of all charges and Morven convicted in your place, I assumed that the truth about your father had been established as well and your inheritance reinstated.'

He shrugged. ‘No, I'm still plain Bruce McGunn of father unknown, and have no right to either McRae's name or wealth. The medals didn't prove anything, the judge said, and without the letter and the diary, there was no written evidence I was entitled to anything.'

His body tensed as he leaned towards her. ‘Does it make any difference to you what my name is?'

‘Oh yes, it does, but not in the way you think. To tell you the truth, I like it that you're still a McGunn. I don't think I could find as many entertaining nicknames if you had changed your name to McRae.'

She tapped a finger against her cheek, and pretended to think. ‘Let me see. There is McRough, of course, but no, I think I'd much rather be called Lady McGrump…'

He smiled at last. ‘Does it mean you accept? You'll marry me?'

‘I do, and I will,' she answered, deadly serious this time.

He gave her a look so hot her breath hitched in her throat. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist. Her whole being melted under his mouth's insistent caress. She wanted to cry with joy and tell him she loved him and there was nothing she wanted more in the world than be with him, but her throat was so tight even air didn't seem to be able to pass through, let alone words.

So she rose on her tiptoes and brushed her lips to his mouth. He wrapped his arms around her, and lifting her off the ground he held her and kissed her long and deep.

‘I was so sure you'd say no. I wouldn't have blamed you at all if you had,' he said in a harsh whisper, leaning his forehead against hers. ‘I've been an oaf, and you can call me whatever monkey name you want.'

He bent down and kissed her again, with even more urgency. His body shuddered, his skin so hot it felt like he was burning with a fever. When he realised she was still clutching the medallion, he let her down and stepped back. ‘Here, let me…' He clasped the chain around her neck. ‘I'm sorry. I know it's not much of an engagement gift.'

She shook her head and touched the medal that now hung between her breasts. ‘It's perfect.' It was the strongest, sweetest token of love he could ever give her – the acceptance of who he was, the gift of his past, his present and future.

He bent down to kiss her again, and again, before scooping her up in his arms. ‘Where's your room?'

‘Down that corridor,' she answered, snuggling against him and almost purring with contentment, ‘it's the third door on the right.'

Despite stopping every other step to kiss her, he somehow made it to her bedroom and lay her on the bed. He put one knee down on the next to her, his weight making the mattress sink to one side, and looked down. His eyes shone as if carved out of silver in the moonlight pouring in from the patio doors. He looked like he wanted to devour her alive, and a shiver of anticipation ran through her, making her pulse beat harder and her body tighten.

He bent down slowly, his face dark and intent. ‘I have waited a year for this… for you. I don't think I can wait any longer.'

As he kissed her again, his fingers found her bare skin through the rip the French soldier had made in her dress, and ripped the fabric some more until she was naked and the dress in tatters. She almost cried out when he touched her breasts. Closer, she wanted to be closer. She wanted to melt into him, be at one with him at last.

The rough fabric of his jacket rubbed against her skin, his hands probed harder as they slid down the flat plane of her stomach, along the slides of her waist to grab hold of her hips and dig in, lifting her off the bed to press her to him.

He kissed her throat, her breasts, while his fingers spread her legs open and caressed, creating molten waves that rippled throughout her body.

‘Bruce, please,' she moaned, arching higher to meet his heat, even though right now she didn't really know what she was pleading for.

He straightened up and tugged at the opening of his shirt before pulling it over his head and throwing it in a heap onto the ground. His chest glistened in the moonlight and she stared, mesmerised and her eyes wide open in shock.

‘Your
Ahankar
tattoo… It's gone,' she said, lifting her hand to his heart to touch the bumpy ridges of a wide, ugly scar.

He nodded. ‘It is indeed. I could say Morven did me a service when he shot me.' He captured her hand in his and kissed the tips of her fingers with a shaky breath. ‘I realised you were right about everything, my love, and I'd been a stubborn fool. There was no curse. The tattoo meant nothing. It was all in my head and in the poison McNeil was feeding me.'

Letting go of her hand he stood up, kicked his boots off and divested himself of his riding breeches before lowering himself onto her body. Even though he rested his elbows on the bed so as not to crush her under his weight, he was so big and heavy she could hardly breathe… Or perhaps it was because his skin slid, burning hot against hers and that she could feel the strength of his need for her.

He kissed her again, and her fingers trailed down along his back and up again.

‘I want you so much.' He brushed her hair off her forehead and pecked kisses on her eyes, her cheeks, her lips and down the side of her throat.

She looked into his eyes and saw love and passion, everything she'd always wished for. She was his, and he was hers, and it wasn't a dream. His eyes never left hers as he pushed deep inside her, pinned her hands down on the mattress above her head and drove in faster and faster until the world dissolved into a chaos of need and pleasure.

Afterwards, she lay naked and blissfully content in his arms. The moonlight danced on his skin, catching the reflection of his crescent-shaped medal. His mouth nuzzled the side of her neck, his fingers stroked her hip and sent delicious tingles all over her body.

‘Will you tell me what happened after I left Wrath?' she said. ‘The letter I received from Doctor Kilroy in February was very succinct. I only know that Lady Patricia died shortly after the trial started, that the judge cleared you of any wrongdoing and convicted Morven of abduction and murder.'

Bruce nodded. ‘That's right. Although he denied being involved in Malika's and Fenella's death at first, Morven changed his story as soon as he was told of Lady Patricia's death. He said he abducted Fenella MacKay on the moors and held her captive in the hunting lodge for months, then confessed to killing both her and Malika, and to getting McNeil to dispose of their bodies and incriminate me. He even confessed to hiring McNeil to poison me.'

He paused and added in a bitter tone, ‘It was as if nothing mattered to him any longer – apart from keeping the McRae name untarnished, of course. He categorically denied either McRae or Lady Patricia had any knowledge of the whole thing, even if you and I know that they were implicated too.'

‘Why didn't you call me back from Algiers to testify at the trial? I could have told the judge how Cameron conned me into a fake marriage to get hold of my father's diary, and reported what the
Ouled Nail
told me about him forcing Malika to come to Scotland because she'd seen him hit that poor dancing girl in Algiers, the one who was later found dead in the harbour.'

‘I didn't want you to be part of it, stand and be humiliated in front of everybody.'

‘But I could have made a difference! I knew about my father's diary, I had read Niall McRae's letter to your mother. I was there when Cameron said you were his half-brother and tried to kill you during that terrible last night at Wrath Lodge.'

His arms tensed around her. ‘I told you. This was my battle, I didn't want to drag you into it and force you to reveal what McRae had done to you.'

She moved on top of him and kissed his chest where the tattoo had been. ‘Oh Bruce, I wouldn't have minded if it had helped you.'

He sighed and ran his fingers through her hair, toying with the wild curls. ‘I know, love. Anyway, the judge asked the two madames from the brothel to testify in person, and they weren't quite as vehement with him as they'd been when they confronted me at Westmore. They soon broke down and declared that Malika and Fenella had been brought in by Morven, and that I would have been quite incapable of doing anything to either of them because I had been too badly beaten up to even stand on my own. They also confirmed it was Morven who'd paid them to go to Westmore and claim I had killed both young women.'

A fist of steel closed around Rose's heart. ‘So how did Fenella and Malika die?'

‘Morven said he and McNeil killed them on the way back to Wrath then disposed of their bodies.'

‘What did he have to say about Capitaine Pichet's murder and the way he and Lady Patricia blackmailed Morag into killing you and your mother all those years ago?'

‘He said it wasn't true and he was never aware of any involvement between Niall McRae and my mother. When McRae's lawyers Longford and Stewart were called to the witness box, they too denied ever meeting Capitaine Pichet or knowing of McRae's amended will and testament. I am afraid in the absence of any written evidence, the judge believed them over me.'

‘What happened to Morag after she ran away from Wrath Lodge?'

He drew in a shaky breath. ‘Her body was found in the graveyard at Balnakeil church, near the grave of her husband and son.'

The pain in his voice brought tears to her eyes. ‘Oh Bruce, I'm so sorry.'

‘Not as much as me. It was my fault she died there all alone. I treated cruelly and unjustly that night at Wrath Lodge. In a way I was the one who killed her.'

‘No, you weren't. She was very ill, and she was plagued by remorse. When I met her at Doctor Kilroy's house she said she wanted to make amends… She said Dark lady was waiting to take her away.'

He kissed her forehead, her lips, and wrapped her more tightly in his arms. ‘The Dark Lady… It may sound crazy but I do believe she was the one who saved me from Morven and McRae that night at Wrath Lodge. She was the shadow they saw dancing on the blade of the claymore.'

She nodded. ‘You're right, it was her. Noelie was watching over you.' She laid her cheek against his chest, listened to the strong, regular drumming of his heart. ‘If you didn't inherit any of McRae's fortune,' she asked after a while, ‘then how did your repay Wrath's debts?'

‘All thanks to you, my love, and the note you sent the morning you sailed away, and that Kilroy kept for me.'

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, a smile on her lips. ‘You mean, you found the French gold – the gold meant for the Jacobites?'

‘I did, after much digging around. It was buried under a great pile of rocks at the bottom of a pit in the ruined tower. There was just about enough for me to repay the bank, commission new fishing boats and modernise the fisheries.'

‘In his last letter, Niall wrote that he had planned to use the money to start a life with your mother in the New World. He really sounded as if he loved her, you know. And he loved you too.'

Bruce closed his eyes and sighed. ‘Maybe he wasn't as bad as I'd thought,' he remarked at last. ‘It is high time I left the hatred and bitterness about the past behind. McRaes or McGunns, who cares anymore, as long as I have you by my side?'

A little over six months later, they stood on the deck of
The Garnett
as it rounded the north coast of Scotland. It was the end of a long, gruelling journey during which they had travelled from Bou Saada to Djanet where Bruce wanted to meet her mother and her brother, former scout and rebel fighter turned philanthropist, Lucas Saintclair. The man with the eyes the colour of a cool dawn sky had taken Bruce for a long walk around the oasis and submitted him to a thorough grilling before giving him a hard tap on the shoulder and declaring that he'd better look after his sister or else. Rose's mother, however, had only had warm smiles and kind words for him, and on the morning of their wedding had told him she trusted him unconditionally with her beloved daughter's happiness.

They had started on the long trek back up to Algiers a few weeks after the wedding. And now, they were almost home, at Wrath Lodge.

The June dawn was crisp and clear, and the sky was a pale, almost luminescent blue. Pinks and orange hues bled into the water along the line of the horizon. Sea spray flew upwards every time the ship bounced up and down. Birds circled above the surface of the sea and dived into white-crested waves. Their shrill, high-pitched calls filled the air, together with the sounds of the sails flapping in the breeze.

In the distance, the cliffs glistened in the rising sun and at the top stood Wrath Lodge in the transparent morning light. Bruce felt light-headed, and almost drunk on sea air and happiness. He was home, at last, and he brought back the greatest treasure a man could ever wish for.

Rose snuggled into his arms. ‘I'll never forget the first time I saw Wrath Lodge.' She chuckled. ‘It was so dark and horrid I was sure I had died and gone to hell.'

He held her more tightly. ‘Do you think you'll ever get used to living here? Perhaps I have been selfish and you'd be happier in Djanet with your family, or in London or Edinburgh where winters are less wild.'

She turned to face him and smiled. ‘I am not afraid of snow and gales, Bruce McGunn. Wrath is where I want to be, where I belong now and… ' she lay her hand on her round belly, ‘…where our child will be born in a few weeks' time.'