The Devil Wears Tartan (24 page)

The pain of her mother’s death was from long ago but still with her. That loss left her with a curious feeling of emptiness, as if there was an echo in her heart.

There was the pain of her own awkwardness—of being unsure about her body, how it would work and where her legs would take her. She’d been coltish for too long and without any discernible grace. Her eyes were not strong, necessitating spectacles, which only added to the ungainly nature of the whole. She was simply different, and while she claimed to be proud of being unique, the secret was she longed to be just like everyone else.

When she’d finally emerged from her own chrysalis,
life was not easier. Nor was it painless. Beauty did not exempt her from loss and grief.

Her father’s death had been an agonizing red-tinged mist covering her entire world. She could hardly breathe for the pain of it. But over the last eighteen months, the sharp and tensile grief had muted to become only a dull and constant reminder of his absence.

What she was feeling now was unlike any pain she’d ever experienced. This was a spear to the heart. This pain traveled outward to numb the tips of her fingers and chill the whole of her body. This pain was so monumental that it surrounded her, merged into her, and became who she was. She was no more separate from it than a bright spring day was devoid of sunlight or a storm was without thunder.

How naïve she’d been only a few short weeks ago, concerned for things that were foolish, unnecessary, or simply inane. She’d been worried that someone else would ordain her life. She’d wanted complete autonomy, never truly realizing that autonomy was simply another word for loneliness. Nor had she known that being part of something was more enjoyable than being separate and free.

She’d been part of Marshall’s life. Disjointed, odd, confusing, and sometimes frightening, that life was better than the existence she’d created in Edinburgh for herself.

Marshall was her partner, her lover, and her friend. He hadn’t demanded her capitulation. He hadn’t wanted to rule her. Instead it was almost as if with one hand he bid her join him in this great adventure of life and with the other he pushed her away.

Exactly as she had done.

The revelation so startled her that Davina sat up. Had she, too, invited people to come closer and pushed them away at the same time? Had she used her curiosity as an excuse to play at love, knowing full well that her heart was not involved and she could pull back and away if caught? Had she used knowledge as a shield to keep her from making friendships with the girls in school? Had she done the same with the women in her circle at Edinburgh?

She’d protected herself so completely that it was no wonder she and Marshall each had an affinity for the other. Perhaps he’d seen in her a little of himself, just as she was beginning to recognize that she, too, had been in prison. A prison created by her own fears.

He hadn’t repudiated her at all, only stood by the door she’d opened and refused to keep her there. He’d made Ambrose a haven, and if she’d wanted to leave it, he wouldn’t stop her. Prison had been an anathema to him—he wouldn’t make Ambrose a prison for her.

Nor would he keep her there by force of his will. She must want to stay. All along she’d not recognized that. She’d not realized that he’d wanted her to come to him as a woman, not a little girl. A woman with the knowledge that she could walk away any time she wished, but that she wished, most of all, to be with him.

He’d known what was happening to him. He’d known and he’d wanted comfort in the way that all creatures need to be consoled. What had she done? She’d run away. She’d been a selfish creature who’d thought only of her own pain.

He’d thought himself beyond redemption and unlovable, and she had validated his fears by leaving him.

“Your Ladyship?” Nora reached forward, handing Davina a handkerchief. “You’re crying.”

“Am I?” Davina said, taking the handkerchief and blotting her cheeks.

Nora and Jim both looked at her with concern, but she didn’t comment further.

Had Marshall realized that his sanity was slipping from his grasp?

She needed to find a way to save Marshall and, if possible, salvage his sanity.

Please God, don’t let it be too late for that.

A
massive structure hunkered against the night sky. The building, its edges blurring into the shadows, looked almost like a crouching monster guarding the top of the mountain. A creature called up from myth and legend to defend this piece of the Highlands.

Scotland was all the rage, made popular by the Queen’s fondness for the country. Davina had become accustomed to English tourists as well as English neighbors, and it was only occasionally that she reminded herself that she was a Scot and not English after all. It had been more than a century since the last battle had been fought between the two countries. The Empire stretched around the world, encompassing Scotland easily within its net.

At this moment, however, staring up at the towering building, a brick structure that looked as if it had been crafted in defiance, she felt the stirrings of pride in Scotland’s past. She didn’t feel civilized at all, but a woman who might’ve taken up the tartan not because it was favored by the Queen, but because it was a most convenient and familiar garment. She would have
fought beside her husband, or behind him. His cause would have been hers.

She could do no less for Marshall now.

If madness overwhelmed him, she was determined to keep him at Ambrose and care for him with all the gentleness and love of which she was capable. But no one, no one, was going to imprison the Earl of Lorne again.

“It’s a fierce-looking place,” Jim said.

Davina nodded.

“What are you going to do, Your Ladyship?” The question came from Nora, but Jim looked as interested in her answer. All of them were not that far apart in age, but at the moment, she felt older and wiser.

“I am going to take Marshall home,” she said.

“Can you do that?” Nora asked.

Davina only smiled, as confidently as she was able. “I am the Countess of Lorne. Of course I can.”

Tears peppered her eyes, and she turned her head away so that no one else could see. She could not be weak, not now. The timing was simply not right to faint, give in to the vapors or the dozen or so other ways to avoid difficult situations sometimes chosen by her Edinburgh acquaintances.

Marshall needed her.

She pulled on the gloves she’d grabbed from her dressing room at Ambrose, as well as her bonnet. When she’d left Ambrose three weeks ago, she’d deliberately left some clothing behind, only packing a modest amount of her belongings. In the beginning, she’d thought that the separation from Marshall would
be a short one. Marshall was going to come after her and demand that she remain with him. But of course he hadn’t, and now it was a blessing in disguise. At Ambrose there were duplicates for all those items she’d left behind in Edinburgh.

She was now a properly dressed countess, and not a hoyden. She’d replaced her slippers with shoes and was now tying the bow of her bonnet beneath her chin. Her reticule sat on the coach seat beside her.

No one would find her appearance the least bit startling, especially not the authorities who ran Brannock Castle.

“Can they do that?” Nora asked, staring up at the structure. “Can they simply take you away from your life and put you somewhere?”

Unfortunately, Davina’s curiosity had never extended to the care of lunatics. Granted, the Royal Edinburgh Asylum had been operating for many years, but it was never mentioned in polite company. She fell back on the only answer she could give, one couched in truth and determination.

“They cannot do it to Marshall,” she said.

The approach to Brannock Castle was a serpentine road, lit only by the carriage lamps and much too dangerous for Davina’s peace of mind. Her imagination furnished countless scenes of people being brought here without explanation in closed coaches. Would they be terrified and unable to understand why their relatives were consigning them to a strange and isolated place?

What had Marshall felt?

How very odd to think of Julianna at this moment. What an even stranger time to realize that Marshall’s mother could have easily gone to Egypt if she wished. Or she could have demanded that her husband stay at Ambrose and act the part of earl. Instead, Julianna had simply been accepting of her fate. Was it her very placidity that had spurred Aidan to live in Egypt?

Wasn’t that the true lesson of Julianna’s journals? Life was a great gift that should not be thrown away without recognizing its true value. Love was the second most prized possession belonging to any person, and it should not be traded for a paltry thing like pride.

Julianna had lived the life she’d chosen for herself, never realizing that she could have made a different choice until the very end, when it was too late.

Davina would not sit at Ambrose and wring her hands in despair. Nor would she remain in Edinburgh mired in grief. Instead, she’d scour the length and breadth of Scotland for experts who studied melancholia, be it in Glasgow or Paris or America.

The wheels echoed, a hollow sound indicating to Davina that they were crossing over a wooden bridge. She smoothed her hands over her skirts, wishing she’d donned one more petticoat. Her palms felt damp and her pulse was racing. Her mouth was suddenly dry, but there was nothing she could do about that, or about the fear spreading through her.

She wanted to curl up in the corner, cover herself with a blanket, and pretend that none of this was happening. But that would make her a child, not a wife.

The carriage slowed, and she heard the driver shout
to someone. The coach finally stopped, the wheels rolling back several feet as it did so.

The castle sat atop a promontory of rock, and looked to be accessible only through a narrow archway carved into the black-streaked stone.

“It’s not exactly welcoming,” Nora said.

Jim didn’t comment at all, but the glance he gave to Davina was not reassuring. He evidently doubted their mission or their possibility of success.

Davina focused on the castle. Lanterns had been lit around the structure and swayed from tall poles stuck in the ground. Up close the brick was red, but from the base of the mountain the structure had appeared as black as its soubriquet.

For the longest moment, none of them said a word. Nor did any of them clamber to be the first to depart the carriage. The coachman was under no such restraint, however, and she watched him disappear through the portcullis, followed a few moments later by the echoes of pounding blows against wood.

“What is Chambers doing?” Jim asked.

“What I should be doing,” Davina said.

Did she follow him or remain where she was?

Before she could compose herself enough to follow Chambers, the door to the carriage suddenly opened. The coachman stood there accompanied by another man, dressed all in black except for a tiny bit of white at his collar. A Puritan?

“Your Ladyship, this is Dominic Ahern,” he said. “A proper Irishman, I think. He says he’s the warder of this place.”

“I am not a warder, Your Ladyship,” Ahern said. “I am the custodian of Brannock Castle.”

The man was shorter than the coachman and about half his weight, with a narrow pinched face and a thin mustache that unfortunately curled differently on either side of the man’s nose, as if one side was pointing toward his chin, and the other toward an ear. Davina found herself oddly fascinated by the sight of it. His face, otherwise, was young, deceptively so because he could not be that young to have assumed such a position of trust and responsibility.

Private asylums like the Black Castle were run for profit, and the owners would hire neither a neophyte nor a fool.

“I understand that my husband is here,” she said as a greeting. “Marshall Ross, Earl of Lorne. I’ve come to take him home.”

“I’m afraid that is impossible, Your Ladyship,” he said, bowing before her. Since she had not yet descended from the carriage, it was tantamount to the obeisance given the Queen. “An emergency certificate was issued in the matter of your husband. In such cases, I am required to observe the patient for three days. I cannot release the earl before that time. However, if I deem it necessary to keep him longer, I will inform you of my decision.”

She pushed open the door all the way and descended without the aid of either the coachman or Jim behind her. He followed her, as did Nora, the two of them standing close behind her.

“Who issued this certificate?” she demanded
“Dr. Marsh,” he said, making another little bow.

“I am not familiar with the name, and I don’t believe my husband is, either. Can anyone simply decree him mad and sign a certificate to that fact?”

“We are a private institution, Your Ladyship. We follow all the laws established for the health of our patients.”

She understood immediately. “In addition, you’ve been paid.”

He inclined his head in a gesture of assent.

“By whom?”

“I guard the privacy of those who employ me, Your Ladyship.”

She stared at him for a long moment. She’d been wise to go to the Egypt House.

“I would think, Your Ladyship, that you would welcome a respite from his violent behavior.”

“My husband has never been violent to me,” she said.

“Yet the earl was quite combative when he was brought to us.”

“What have you done to him in return?” she asked.

“As bad as the Chinese,” Jim whispered behind her. “Making prisoners of people.”

Ahern looked offended. “He is not imprisoned, Your Ladyship. Every care has been taken for his comfort. Our physician looked in on him at his arrival; he has been cared for with as much compassion as any of our other patients.”

“If you had any true compassion, Mr. Ahern, you would take me to my husband.”

“That I cannot do, Your Ladyship. He is under man
date to remain with us for at least three days. Without visitors.”

He bowed to her once again.

“Human kindness would appeal to me more than servility, Mr. Ahern.”

The little man looked annoyed, an expression that did not fit well on his rat-like face.

“Why is he not allowed visitors?” she asked.

“We wish our patients to be calm, Your Ladyship. We’ve found that visitors, especially family, are a detriment. Until his condition is ascertained, Your Ladyship, he is better alone.”

Should he have looked so pleased after making that announcement?

“Then we shall remain here as well,” she said, fixing him a look that dared him to argue.

“We have no accommodations for visitors,” he said, bowing once more.

“Then I will sleep in my coach,” she said, smiling. “Unless, of course, you object?”

“I do not control the roads, Your Ladyship.”

“Quite,” Davina said. How very much like her aunt she sounded.

She waited until Mr. Ahern walked back to the castle and disappeared through the portcullis. Only then did she look up at Chambers.

“I have an errand for you,” she said.

“Whatever I can do, Your Ladyship, you have but to ask.”

Davina gave him the instructions, and he looked surprised at first, and then vastly pleased.

“I’ll do as you ask, Your Ladyship, but I don’t like to leave you alone. You can’t remain here. It’s not safe.”

“Jim will be with us,” she said, “and we’ll be safe enough until you return.”

“By the time I get to Ambrose and back again, it’ll be morning.”

“Until then,” she told him, “we’ll occupy ourselves finding the most comfortable rock we can for a bed.”

“Your Ladyship—”

“Do not fuss, Chambers. We shall do well enough. Get one of your stable lads to drive the carriage back—you, too, need some sleep.”

“I’ll not shirk my duties, Your Ladyship.”

What was it about Ambrose that made the staff so responsible? Or was it Marshall who inspired such loyalty? All his life he’d been an example of duty and sacrifice. His time in China was no different.

“I’ll take one of these all the same,” Jim said, reaching up and releasing the catch on one of the lanterns. “She’s right, man, we’ll be fine. Sooner gone, sooner returned.”

Chambers still did not look convinced, but when she, Nora, and Jim stepped away from the coach, he allowed his shoulders to slump, climbed up to his seat, and gave the command to the horses, cracking the whip in the air above their backsides. He turned the coach and began the descent down the mountain.

“The least the fool could do would be to offer us a meal,” Jim said, staring up at the Black Castle.

“I’m afraid it’s going to be a night without dinner,”
Davina said, smiling ruefully at him. “I was in such a hurry that it never occurred to me.”

“We didn’t think he’d refuse to let us see the earl,” Nora said, coming to her side.

Davina looked around her at the barren landscape. The outcropping of rock did not offer many comfortable places to spend the night. Near the road was a scraggly-looking tree and several areas of parched grass—it would be better than the dusty ground. She determinedly headed in that direction, lifting her skirts up to keep them as clean as possible.

“Jim,” she said gently as she removed her bonnet, “will you turn around for a moment?”

He looked confused, but at Nora’s nod did as Davina bid. Only then did she enlist her maid’s assistance in unlacing her stays, enough that she could be more comfortable as she propped herself up against the trunk of the tree.

When they were done, she thanked Nora and arranged herself on the gorse, staring off into the darkness. The only illumination was the steady glow of the lamp Jim had taken from the coach. The lanterns near the castle had sputtered out, and were not replenished.

Nora was grumbling about something as she prepared her bower, but Davina didn’t bother to either lecture or silence her. Ahern really could have offered them some kind of comfort. Did he look down on them from his lofty perch in the castle? Or was some poor madman looking at them and wondering why he was imprisoned when it was obvious that they were the lunatics?

Not ten feet away, the ground fell away, the only sight the blackness of an impenetrable void. How very frightening that was. Almost as frightening as Marshall being imprisoned in the Black Castle.

At least it wasn’t raining.