Chapter Fourteen #2
Maura’s heart picked up its beat. She wanted to rub her hands in glee, leap up and crow.
Finally, here was the chance she’d been waiting for.
The ability to search for the Circle of Light to her heart’s content, without having to glance over her shoulder every few seconds should someone walk by.
She could poke and probe as she wished, wherever she wished.
“I’m thinking of changing a few things here and there in some of the rooms,” she said lightly. “Don’t be surprised if you see me wandering about.”
The housekeeper curtsied. “Very well, your grace. Should you need any help, just ring for one of the maids,” she said cheerily.
Maura flashed a beaming smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Yates. I shall.”
By the end of the next day Maura was exhausted.
She’d checked beneath every bed and chair, run her fingers into each cushion, feeling for what she knew not, peeked into each cupboard, peered behind every picture and tapestry in the house, searching for anything that might reveal a secret hiding place.
On the third floor in the original wing, there was a large room where the air was thick and damp. The light was dim, the window hangings drawn close and tight. She searched as thoroughly there as she had in every other room.
The room had clearly been in disuse for a very long time.
She choked at the dust she stirred up. Lifting her head, she glanced about, aware of a curious sense of…
well, she wasn’t quite sure what it was.
She wasn’t frightened, just aware that something was very different here.
She wrinkled her nose at its musty smell.
It was rather inhospitable. If this room were to be put to use, she decided briskly, it would need new paint and new furnishings.
She caught herself. If that were to happen, it would be Alec’s wife who would undertake the task. A pang shot through her. She made the admission almost painfully. An empty ache stole over her.
Alec’s wife, whomever she might be. She would be the true duchess.
Not her. Not Maura O’Donnell. Oh, but it didn’t bear thinking about.
Yet all at once it was all that filled her mind…
another woman lying naked and languishing against him, his hand an idle caress upon her shoulder.
Alec arousing this unknown woman with his lips, with his tongue and hands, as he had the night he’d bought her stockings.
The day he told her of the selkies, she had teasingly asked if he would be jealous if she found herself smitten with a selkie-man. There was something almost grave when he answered in the affirmative.
Without question, she was jealous when she thought about Alec with another woman. Fiercely jealous.
So much so that it was almost a physical pain, deep in the pit of her belly, a rending ache she could not bear. Slowly, she straightened, unaware that she had bent over, as if she were in pain.
And indeed, she was. Her heart squeezed. Her throat was thick with emotion. All the more reason not to fall in love with him. No, she must not let herself care for him. She could not let herself care for him.
Alec was far too dangerous to her heart.
All the more reason to find the Circle as quickly as possible and go home.
Ireland was where she belonged. Not here in Scotland. Not with Alec McBride, Duke of Gleneden.
It was then…
Oh, mercy, she had forgotten…No, she had never realized until now—
She recalled how Alec spoke of his father’s lingering battle with death. And she bit back a cry of desolation as she remembered her own father’s last day, his last, straggling breath. A sick dread clutched at her.
The curse that plagued Clan McDonough also plagued the McBrides.
It was not pain she had experienced before. This was pain. The certainty of knowing that Alec would die. Far sooner than he should have. No one would know why or when or how…
Because of the curse.
Unless she found the Circle of Light.
Only half aware of what she was doing, Maura stumbled outside.
Before she knew it, she was standing at the wishing well.
Like Alec’s mother, she found comfort and peace here.
It didn’t matter that the surroundings weren’t particularly picturesque.
She found the little well charming, and walked here every day.
She was stunned to find it half filled with water. Sunlight dappled the surface. How, she could not fathom. There had been no rain today or yesterday. Throughout the clearing, the dirt was dry as bone.
Maura spun around and slumped to the ground, her back against the stone. Her hands were shaking as she pulled her pouch from deep in her pocket. She clutched it fast between her fingers.
Inside was the earth from McDonough lands, the pebbles and dirt she’d gathered when she left home. This was her reason for being here.
Pain like a knife ripped through her breast.
Ireland was where she belonged. Not here in Scotland, living beneath a cloud of guilt and deceit.
She sought to think of home. Of Castle McDonough. Jen. Toothless Nan. Patrick the Woolly. The ancient church high upon the hill where pagans and Christians alike had worshiped.
The place where the Circle had once burned so brightly.
But all she could see was Alec, his gaze icy and blue, damning her for not saving him.
At that same moment in Glasgow, Alec opened a small iron gate and strode down a brick walk-way. The house was built of weathered brick, each one very much like the other on the narrow street.
At the door, he rapped the brass knocker three times. Heavy footsteps echoed from within the house. The door was thrown wide.
“Your grace!” the man inside greeted him heartily. He was in his late forties, burly, and stood half a head shorter than Alec. His shoulders and neck were thick with muscle. “Come in, come in, your grace.”
“You may dispense with the formalities, Thomas.” Alec smiled. “It’s just the two of us.”
“Habits die hard. I still call your brother ‘Colonel.’”
Thomas Gates had served with the Highland Regiment under his brother’s command. Alec stepped into a small entryway as Thomas closed the door.
“I’ve always been surprised you remained here in Britain rather than return to India,” Alec commented.
Thomas grinned. “I fancy m’pension more than that accursed heat in India.”
Alec retrieved two pungent cigars from his waistcoat. “Fancy a smoke?”
Thomas released a hearty laugh. “I do. A bit early in the day, but I have just the thing to go with them.”
Inside a small parlor, Thomas filled two brandy snifters. Alec sat back and the two of them enjoyed a bit of small talk.
The cigars had burned down when Alec said, “I hear you’ve turned down a post with Scotland Yard, Thomas.”
Thomas shrugged. “I fancy bein’ me own man now.” He grinned. “I can be a wee bit more discerning about the jobs I take on.”
“Precisely the reason I am here.”
Thomas laughed gustily. “I knew it wasn’t my ugly face that brought you to my doorstep.”
Alec crushed the ashes left on his stub of cigar. “I have a favor to ask of you, Thomas,” he said, wasting no more time on small talk. “In light of being your own man now, how would you like a visit to Ireland?”
“Ireland!” Thomas was clearly surprised. “And the purpose of this visit?”
“A few discreet inquiries. You’ll be amply recompensed.” Alec paused. “Aidan always said there was no better man than you at his back, Thomas. If he trusted you, then so do I.”
His host glanced at him sharply. “What! This sounds like a matter of life and death.”
“No. But it is most certainly a matter of utmost discretion.”
“That’s the nature of my work now,” Thomas said. “Well, it’s actually been that for a great many years,” he added with a grin. “And you know I will do anything for the colonel’s family. But what might be in Ireland other than an overabundance of wind and rain?”
Maura, Alec decided dryly, would have taken vehement exception to his description of her homeland.
Reminded of her righteous indignation over his own characterization of Ireland, a faint smile began to crease his lips.
But then he thought of her deception, and the smile never quite made it to fruition. He sobered quickly.
Thomas’s own smile faded upon seeing Alec’s somber expression. He frowned. “A matter of utmost discretion,” he repeated. “A matter concerning what?”
Alec had gone very still. There was a faraway look in his eyes.
Thomas frowned. “Your grace,” he prompted. “A matter concerning…?”
Alec’s attention snapped back. “A woman, Thomas. The former Lady Maura O’Donnell.” He took a deep breath. “My wife.”