The Presence (21 page)

She had died at the tender age of twenty-three, just a bit more than ten years ago, Toni discovered, reading the smaller print. That she had been a teacher and a lover of history, music, dance and mankind was also immortalized.

As she sat and continued to read, Toni was surprised to find, in very small print, that the kirk thanked Laird Bruce MacNiall for the garden and memorial, to be kept in perpetuity.

“So you like old kirks and cemeteries, as well as castles!”

Spinning around, Toni was startled to see none other than Bruce MacNiall coming toward her.

He was wearing a leisure suit that day, and had doffed the jacket, which he carried casually under his arm. He was wearing sunglasses, as well, so his eyes were unfathomable, and his ebony hair was slicked back. He could
have just walked off a page of
GQ,
rather than out of a crumbling stone castle steeped in history and lore.

“Bruce,” she murmured, feeling as if she had been caught looking into someone's private diary. “Hi. Did…did you know I was here?”

He shook his head, joining her on the bench. “Actually, I didn't. But I'm glad to see you.”

She smiled, still feeling a little shy. Then she decided simply to ask, “Who was Margaret?”

He didn't seem disturbed by the question. He simply looked up at the angel, as if he could see something that went far beyond it, then shrugged slightly. “The great love of my youth,” he said softly. He looked at Toni, though she could still see nothing of his eyes beneath the dark shades. “She was a local girl with a great love for people, life…children. We were engaged, but never married.”

“What happened to her?” Toni asked, afraid that she was prying too deeply now, and was about to hear a horrible story.

“Leukemia,” he said. “I never knew anyone with a greater love for the simplest things in life. The sky, the hills, grass…trees. Children. She adored children. She wanted a dozen, and always said it would be fine because we were very wee in numbers here, and the world needed more Scots.”

“I'm very sorry,” Toni said. “It sounds as if she was really a lovely person.”

He nodded and looked away. She thought that he had decided to say no more, but then he looked at her again. “That's why I rather let the castle go, I'm afraid. She loved it. She wanted to bring life back to it. She had a way of just making you glad that you were alive
and breathing and…well, it seemed such an irony that her own life should prove to be so fragile.”

“I am so sorry,” Toni repeated.

“Thanks. She's been gone a very long time now. No excuse for me, really, to have let things go the way that I did.” His lips curled into a dry smile. “Did you visit the rest of the family?” he asked her politely.

“I saw a few MacNialls in the old kirk, yes.”

“And you're here alone?”

“We're all meeting at the pub at the base of the hill at four,” she told him. “Ryan and Gina took copies of the documents to Jonathan. David and Kevin are shopping. And Thayer and I just met two lovely lasses in the cemetery, so the three of them headed on to the pub al ready.”

“Good. I'm glad there's a bit of excitement for your cousin,” he said. And he smiled broadly at her. “I've had a bit of my own today.”

“Oh?”

“I've been at the M.E.'s,” he told her. “And we think we've made a discovery that will vindicate my ancestor.”

“Really?” Toni said.

He nodded. “Looks like she was strangled with a scarf that belonged to his archenemy, a man named Grayson Davis. The fellow hailed from around here, but he wasn't the kind of man to fight for a losing side for long. It wasn't really such a terrible thing for men to be on opposite sides—throughout our history, Scots have fought Scots almost as much as they've fought the English. The thing with Grayson Davis was that he turned coat, and turned in many a man he had once called his friend. He was the one who brought down Bruce Mac
Niall, catching up with him in the forest and giving him a mock trial then and there. And, well, you know the rest.”

Toni looked at him with surprise and murmured, “I wonder…”

“You wonder what?”

“Nothing!” she said quickly, shaking her head.

He took her hand, his thumb massaging the palm with an absent tenderness that stole around her heart. “You've done the family a great service, you know, finding Annalise. I've been telling you this all along, you know, but…I really do owe you.”

“I'm delighted,” she said, a little afraid of being so close to him and not sure why. “We really need to tell all this to an old woman who was through here a while ago. Apparently, everyone in town knows that Annalise was found. This lady was very upset, certain that your ancestor was running around, going off to the cities to abduct other women and strangle them in the forest, as well.”

He frowned sharply. “What?”

She shook her head, startled to have gotten such an intense response from him.

“It was nothing to take seriously,” she said quickly. “This old woman knew we were at the castle, and apparently, she's deeply distraught that Annalise was found in the forest. She wanted to believe that your ancestor was a hero, not a wife killer. Apparently she believes that Bruce MacNiall still roams the land.”

He let out an impatient and irritated sound. “Elwyn MacHenry!” he said.

“Yes. She was with her son and daughter-in-law. They seemed like very nice people.”

“They are, but Elwyn is more than ‘touched,' as they call it here. She's been raving about Bruce MacNiall roaming the countryside for years.” He looked at her with a trace of amusement. “However, he just used to ride in the moonlight. She never accused him before of going from town to town to strangle others, as he had supposedly strangled his wife.”

“Elwyn will be happy, then, to learn the truth,” Toni said.

He rose suddenly, drawing her up. “I love this place, but enough is enough. Let's go join the living, eh?”

 

The afternoon spanned into the evening. Bruce remained in an exceptionally good mood, and Thayer was riding high, as well, enjoying the company of Lizzie and Trish. Gina reported that Jonathan had been cordial, and he had told them it was good that they had given the original documents to Robert Chamberlain, since his resources were so great. In fact, they'd saved him the trouble of having to do it. And he was pleased to tell them that the locals were cheerful about the tours. The buses had stopped in the village both nights, and the tourists had bought all manner of T-shirts, stuffed draft horses, jams, jellies, jewelry, tartans, cashmere, ties, brooches, snow globes and miniatures of the castle.

Kevin and David had spent their hours in the shops looking for plates and plasticware, and they were delighted with all their little purchases.

Gina decided that they had to have haggis, since it was the national dish, but Bruce begged out of it being the meal for the entire table.

“Hate the stuff,” he told her.

“But it's the national dish!” she protested.

“Aye, it's the national dish, and do you know why?” he asked her, eyes sparkling. “It's made from the cheapest pieces of meat—”

“Body parts,” David put in.

“Aye, body parts, because we were too broke here most of the time to be using the best cuts ourselves. But, by all means, Gina, have the haggis. They actually do an excellent sirloin here, and the lamb chops are phenomenal, especially considering that we're in a local pub,” Bruce finished.

Toni opted for the salmon, while Thayer, David, Ryan and Kevin went along with Bruce, ordering the sirloin. Lizzie and Trish decided to try the lamb chops.

“Sure you want haggis, Gina?” Ryan asked. “I'm not trading my meal with yours!” he told her.

She made a face at him, but when it came her turn to order, she asked their waitress, “What do you think of the haggis?”

The woman glanced at Bruce. “Should I be tellin' her the truth, Laird MacNiall?”

“Indeed, Catherine, aye,” he said gravely.

“I think we keep it on the menu for the tourists,” she said, causing everyone to laugh. Gina switched to the sirloin.

By the end of the evening, Thayer had planned to spend the next Monday driving Lizzie and Trish down to Glasgow to show them some of the sights there. Kevin and David were planning holiday decorations for the castle. Gina was ever so slightly crocked and affectionate in her husband's arms. And the light in Bruce's
eyes offered amusement and a flicker of intimacy that Toni found both touching and seductive.

Whatever ridiculous doubts and fears she had regarding him—and the ghost of his ancestor—seemed to have dissipated completely. She couldn't wait to be back at the castle, and back in his arms.

But it wasn't to work out that way. When they arrived, Eban was there to meet them. The roan had taken another turn for the worse, and he'd been out with the animal, doing his best to keep him up and walking, but he was wearing himself out. Toni was ready to run out with Ryan, but Bruce stopped her.

“I'll tend to the roan with Ryan,” he said.

“But it sounds as if Wallace is really sick,” she said, upset. “And I didn't see him at first when I should have—”

“I'll be calling the vet, Toni. It will be all right.”

“How are you going to get a vet at midnight?” she asked.

“The rewards of a small village, where everyone knows everyone,” he told her. “It's all right. Toni, trust me, I know something about horses.”

“Toni!” David set an arm around her. “It's best if you let them handle this, you know.”

He was right. She would be emotional, and maybe in the way.

Bruce took her arm, leading her toward the castle. “Wait for me?” he queried. “Well, get some sleep, if you can…but in my bed?”

She looked into his eyes and nodded. The excitement she'd been feeling was definitely tempered now with worry for the horse, but there was something more that
he gave her with his words and the gentle brush of his eyes—comfort and assurance.

“The doc will take care of old Wallace,” he said.

So she went on upstairs and showered, then slipped into a gown and into his bed. Restless, she stood up and looked out the window. The lights remained bright in the stables.

She went back to bed, where she tossed and turned, her mind filled with the events that had occurred since their arrival. An hour passed, and she was still staring at the ceiling. Finally her eyes closed, and she slept. Then…she felt a touch. She opened her eyes, and he was there—at the foot of the bed.

His sword was not dripping blood this time. Instead, it was sheathed in the belt and holder that sat around his hip, on his plaid.

She sat up, staring at him, wishing that she could scream, make someone come running, making the apparition disappear. And though his face was Bruce's, she no longer thought that he was the Bruce she knew.

Staring into his eyes, she ran her hand over the sheets at her side, praying that maybe Bruce had come up while she was sleeping. But he wasn't there. And with the man at the foot of her bed looking so exactly like him…she began to question her sanity again. And to question the man with whom she was falling in love.

“Don't do this to me!” she whispered.

But he remained, turning and heading for the door.

“No!” she said.

He waited at the door until she rose and followed. Then he headed down the hall to the stairway.

Toni came along, barefoot, shivering in her gown.
She didn't understand why she didn't scream then, or call out, waken someone else. If they didn't see him, then she was crazy.

But at least she would know for certain that he wasn't the man she knew, flesh and blood, playing tricks on her.

Yet, if they didn't see him, then she was following a ghost.

He paused at the landing, and a fierce tension suddenly gripped his features, as if he found it painful there. Then he looked back, as if to assure himself that she was following.

“You know,” she said quietly, “you have a descendant here. You couldn't just appear before him, huh?”

There was no response. He started down the stairs.

Her heart was pounding.
Cry out!
she told herself. But still, she didn't.

He came to the great hall and waited again. When she neared the bottom of the stairs, he walked on to the secondary hall, and from there…to the door leading to the crypts.

“No, please!” she told him.

Nae, lass, the “please” be to you.

Did the ghost speak, or did the words just somehow echo in her head?

“I really don't like the crypts!” she whispered.

The door, bolted and rusted by day, was open. He went down the spiral stone stairs, and she followed. Once again, he led her to his grave. And then he was gone.

In the shadows, in the must and darkness of the dead, she spun around, frantically searching for him. “What
do you want? Just what is it that you want? Annalise has been found. And they know…they know you didn't do it!”

But there was no answer, and she felt again as if the light began to disappear as soon as she lost him. She was incredibly frightened, and furious, as well. Why did he bring her here, then leave her alone in the shadows and cold, desperate to get back up the stairs?

She ran, nearly tripping in her scramble to regain the level of the hall. Once there, she burst out the door, across the smaller hall and then the great one, and up the stairs. She hesitated on the landing, thinking that David and Kevin would have to screw their sex life or intimacy that night because she was going to burst in on them and tell them that they were getting out of the castle then and there.

But as she stood on the upper landing, she heard someone humming. Looking down, she saw Ryan coming out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hands. He looked up and saw her.