The Dream Catcher (15 page)

‘Handa?' the reverend croaked. ‘But it's cut off from the mainland half the year.'

‘It may be, but the bracing sea air would do you the world of good. You do look a little pale these days. Don't you agree, Kilroy?'

Somewhere in the room, the doctor mumbled a vague agreement.

‘What's more, in Handa you wouldn't be confronted by the dilemma you are facing here today,' McGunn resumed speaking. ‘The only people you'd ever have to bury there would be natives, born and bred on the island.'

There was a silence, then the vicar coughed.

‘I may have been a little hasty,' he said. ‘Perhaps I can indeed reconsider my position.'

‘Good. Shall we proceed then?'

Rose had no time to move back before the door opened and a tall, black-clad figure appeared in the doorway. If McGunn was surprised to see her he didn't show it. He ducked his head under the door frame and stepped towards her.

‘Lady McRae, I am glad you're here at last,' he said. ‘The service should start shortly.'

‘I heard what you said to the vicar,' she said with a timid smile, ‘and I would like to thank you, on behalf of my friend.'

‘It was the least I could do. If there's one thing I can't stand it's hypocrisy. If this church can accommodate the sorry bones of highway robber and murderer Donald McMurdo, then it can welcome a dancing girl – wherever she was from.'

His eyes clouded over. Perhaps, Rose thought, he was thinking about his mother who Agnes had said was refused burial in that very churchyard…

He bent forward and she had the uneasy feeling he was examining her. ‘How are you feeling this morning?'

‘I'm fine,' she lied, trying hard to ignore her pounding headache and the queasiness at the pit of her stomach.

He frowned. ‘Are you, really? You didn't catch a chill last night?'

‘Yes, of course I'm sure,' she retorted crossly. ‘And I would appreciate if you didn't mention last night and the unpleasant scene you caused in the village anymore.'

His lips twitched. ‘The scene
I
caused? I wasn't the one shouting and screaming.'

He paused just long enough for her cheeks to become hot and her breath to quicken.

‘Anyway, I wasn't talking about what happened in the village.'

‘Then what were you talking about?'

He arched his eyebrows. ‘You don't remember?'

‘Remember what?'

He straightened up and looked around the church.

‘Nothing. It doesn't matter. By the way, where is Morag? I thought she was coming in with you.'

‘She stayed in the graveyard. Please tell me, what should I remember?'

Ignoring her, he strode down the aisle and out of the church.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and swirled round.

‘How are you, my dear?' Now it was Doctor Kilroy's turn to stare at her with a concerned look in his blue eyes. ‘Are you feeling faint? Do you have a headache, nausea perhaps?'

Rose frowned. Why was everyone so worried about her health this morning?

‘Well… to tell the truth, I do have a migraine and I feel a little sick.' Him, she could tell. He was after all a physician.

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

‘I will give you a tonic later today. I guarantee it will perk you up.'

He slipped his hand under her elbow and led her to the first row of pews. Rose paused as they walked past the two coffins lined side by side in front of the altar.

‘Which one is Malika's?' she asked in a low voice.

Dr Kilroy pointed to the coffin on the right. Rose put her hand on the grainy wood cover and bowed her head.

She shuddered, her eyes filled with tears and she let out a sob. She couldn't believe that her beautiful friend, so vibrant and full of life only a few weeks ago, lay inside, forever cold and still. Worse still was the thought that Malika's last moments had been filled with terror and pain.

‘I hope you don't mind but McGunn put the silver earring in the coffin,' Kilroy said. ‘He said she needed something to remind her of home.'

‘He said that?' Rose turned towards the church door McGunn had just closed behind him. How strange that he, a coarse and uncouth brute of a man, should have such a touching thought. He'd been right, of course.

‘Come now, dear.' Doctor Kilroy pulled her arm gently. ‘Reverend MacKay is about to start the service.'

The vicar was a stocky man with bushy grey whiskers and eyebrows who strode towards the pulpit, his black robes billowing around him. After a hostile glance in Rose's direction, he opened his bible and started reading with a deep, solemn voice.

It was a short service. Less than half an hour later, Rose watched her friend's coffin being lowered into a freshly dug grave. Around her the churchyard was filled with rows of stone crosses, some worn and disappearing under a thick layer of moss, others carved with pretty and intricate designs. The churchyard overlooked the sea on one side and the moors on the other. The moors stretched as far as the eyes could see, scattered with clumps of misshapen trees, their bare, black branches twisted by the wind as if pleading for mercy. Would Malika be at peace in this harsh, wild land, so far away from home?

‘Rose… They're waiting for you,' Lord McGunn said next to her.

She jumped. ‘Yes. I'm sorry.'

She bent down to grab a handful of earth and stepped towards Malika's coffin. She didn't see the shovel lying on the ground until it was too late. She tripped over it and would have fallen into Malika's grave had Lord McGunn not grabbed hold of her arm.

‘Careful,' he warned.

She swayed against him and for a brief moment her cheek rested on the coarse fabric of his coat. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scents of winter and deep, dark forests. The same scents as his plaid, the sprigs of pine, and his skin. Heat rushed to her face and images of his sharp-edged medallion, of his strong, muscular chest and the strange blue tattoo just above his heart flashed through her mind, so clear and vivid she could picture touching him and tracing the contour of the tattoo with her fingertips – or her lips.

Shame heated her cheeks, her whole body, in a flash. She jerked out of his arms. How could she think about Lord McGunn in this way in a churchyard, as she buried her childhood friend?

He frowned and seemed about to speak when a woman's scream echoed across the graveyard.

‘It's Morag. Look, she's over there.' The vicar pointed to the woman who stood facing the bay, shaking.

‘Damn, what's wrong now?' McGunn ran across the churchyard and reached her just as she fainted to the ground.

‘Kilroy, come here,' he called, lifting her on to a nearby wooden bench.

The doctor rushed to his side, followed by Rose and the vicar.

‘Oh dear, poor woman. I wonder what happened to put her in that state.' Reverend MacKay lifted his cassock above his ankles and toddled cautiously across the snow-covered churchyard.

Doctor Kilroy produced a bottle of salts from his coat pocket, unscrewed the top and waved the small vessel under the unconscious woman's nose. Morag sneezed, coughed and flicked her eyes open.

‘She was right there, I saw her walking on the beach,' she said in a breathless whisper. ‘She looked straight at me. She knows what I've done, and she wants to punish me.'

She looked around, and her eyes focussed on Rose.

‘It's your fault she came back.'

Who was Morag talking about? The beach was deserted.

‘She is delirious,' Doctor Kilroy remarked as he took hold of Morag's wrist, and pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat pocket to check her pulse.

‘We need to get her inside and warm as soon as possible,' he went on, putting his watch away. ‘Actually, it's better if I take her to the practice straight away. I'll be able to examine her there and she can have a rest.'

‘She knows what I did,' Morag repeated as she turned anguished eyes towards Lord McGunn and gripped his hand. ‘She knows everything. I'm so sorry. I only wanted to save them, I had to do it. It was her or them. Please forgive me…'

‘I don't understand what you're talking about, but that's enough for now, Morag,' Lord McGunn said in a quiet voice. ‘You heard the doctor, you must rest.'

His face sombre, he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the churchyard and into the carriage. It was decided that he would ride to the village while the doctor and Rose went in the carriage to take care of Morag. He tied Doctor Kilroy's horse to the back of the carriage and started ahead.

Rose took advantage of the noise and confusion surrounding their arrival at Doctor Kilroy's practice to take her bag out of the carriage and hide it behind an armchair in the doctor's front parlour.

‘Here, my dear, have some tea while we're waiting for news.'

The doctor's housekeeper, a stocky, grey-haired woman with a kind smile who had introduced herself as Mrs Fraser, pushed a hot cup into her hands. Rose smiled and drank the delicately scented tea, thankful that her headache was subsiding and her stomach had settled at last.

‘How is Morag?' She put the empty cup down onto a pristine white crocheted mat.

‘Not well, I'm afraid.' The woman fussed around the room, straightening cushions, rearranging ornaments on the mantelpiece and wiping invisible specks of dust from the furniture.

‘It's not like her to faint or be ill,' she added. ‘It's no wonder Lord Bruce looks so worried. She brought him up, you know.'

Rose looked up. ‘Did she?'

‘He was only a babe when his mother died,' the housekeeper sighed.

‘Poor Bonnie. She was the kindest, the prettiest girl in the county. Her father, Lord Doughall, he was a harsh man – harsh, bitter and mean – he never forgave her for… you know, having a child out of wedlock. After Lord Bruce was born, the poor flower just wilted away. She took to walking on the moors and the cliffs alone, until one night she fell onto the rocks. It was all so very sad. There was a scandal, people talked, and Lord Doughall became even nastier.'

‘How old was Lord McGunn when his mother died?' Rose put her cup on the side table.

Mrs Fraser looked up, as if trying to remember.

‘Only a few months, poor soul. He was born in April and Bonnie passed away in November.'

She put a hand against her ample bosom.

‘That'll be thirty-two years ago at the end of the month. Shortly after, Morag's husband and son died too, so it seemed only natural that she should take care of Lord Bruce. Good job for him she did, if you ask me. She was the next best thing to a mother he could ever have. Like I said, his grandfather was a harsh man. He made the boy's life a misery for years, then he sent him to the army.'

She walked to the window and smoothed the thick green curtains. Rose threw an anxious glance towards the chair where she had hidden her bag. If the housekeeper kept on inspecting every corner of the drawing room, she would spot it and ask questions…

Fortunately, the woman didn't see it.

‘I'll see if the doctor needs me now, my lady. Are you sure you're comfortable?'

‘Oh yes, thank you.' Rose hesitated. ‘There was just one thing I wanted to ask you, Mrs Fraser. I have a letter to post. I was told the mail coach would stop in the village at midday today.'

She glanced at the mantel clock. It was a quarter to noon.

‘That's right,' Mrs Fraser replied. ‘The coach leaves at twelve, after the driver and the mail guards have had their dinner at the Old Norse's Inn. If you give me your letter, I'll send a lad to the inn right now.'

‘That's very kind of you, but I'd rather take it to the coach myself.' Rose forced a smile. ‘To tell you the truth, I could do with a walk and some fresh air.'

‘Of course… Just make sure you slam the door shut behind you. It sticks a little.'

As soon as the woman had left, Rose slipped her gloves on, adjusted her bonnet and cloak and retrieved her bag. Clutching the handles tightly, she tiptoed out of the drawing room into the empty hallway and opened the front door. She gave a silent prayer of thanks when it neither creaked nor rattled, and walked out into the pale winter sunshine and freedom.

It was hard to walk at a leisurely pace along the narrow village street when all she wanted was to run, climb into the post coach and put as much distance as she could between her and Wrath. People stared, sniggered and called out in Gaelic as she walked by but she held her head high and looked straight ahead.

At last she reached the square where the mail coach, red and black and pulled by four horses, was stationed in front of the alehouse. The driver, dressed in a thick black cloak, was already perched on his seat. She caught a glimpse of a man sitting inside – the only passenger.

Calling up to the driver, she asked if there was any room for a passenger to Westmore. The ruddy-faced man looked down and grinned, uncovering large, yellowed front teeth.

‘There's always room for a pretty woman.'

He tapped the seat next to him with his gloved hand. ‘Climb up here next to me, my lovely. I'll keep you warm.'

‘No, thank you,' she replied primly. ‘I'd rather travel inside.'

He snorted. ‘Oh well, you can't blame a man for trying,' he said. ‘It'll be four shillings, then.'

Rose let out a gasp of dismay. The idea she might have to pay hadn't even crossed her mind. She had no English money. Her gold Napoleons were still in her cabin on the
Sea Eagle
but there was no time to go to the ship now.

‘So what's it to be, then?' The driver asked, impatiently. ‘You'd better make up your mind and sharpish, are you coming or not?'

Rose hesitated. What could she do?

‘Is her Highness leaving us?' a coarse woman's voice shouted nearby. ‘Good riddance, I'd say!'

Rose breathed in a sigh of relief and smiled. Of course. She should have thought of it before. She may not have any money, but she was the wife of one of Scotland's richest men.