Chapter Twenty #2
Thinking to soothe her unsettled mood, to distract her mind, she had brought a book of poetry from the library room with her.
At the well, she placed the book on the stone bench.
She didn’t understand why Alec didn’t find it charming.
Indeed, she would go a step further and call it charmingly enchanted.
Aye, perhaps it was a trifle plain. But all it needed was a dash of color here and there.
She could well imagine how pretty it would be with roses scenting the air.
A faint smile on her lips, Maura moved to the wall of the well. She had no coins with which to wish, but she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply…and made a most fervent wish nevertheless.
All at once there was an eerie sense of quiet. The sunlight faded. She glanced up, stunned to see a thick black cloud.
She sat down and too late realized that the stones were not secure. They shifted beneath her weight and she felt herself tumble, plummeting down…She cried out as she landed jarringly on her side.
Maura tried to push to her feet, then stumbled. Her head ached. She felt battered and bruised to the bone. Gritting her teeth, she managed to struggle upright.
She steadied her nerves. She was lucky. She wasn’t hurt, not really. Scraped up and bruised, perhaps, but it could have been much worse. But she knew she could not climb out under her own power. It was perhaps twenty feet to the top, and the walls of the well were slick with moss.
She called out. Her voice echoed back at her.
She wouldn’t be alarmed, she told herself. Not yet, anyway. Until someone realized she was missing, she could only wait. There was little point in screaming herself hoarse if there was no one near.
An hour later, the dark cloud had passed, yet it was difficult to see. She glanced down and it was then she felt it—
There was water seeping into her shoes. Within seconds it began to rush around her ankles. For the first time, fear took root.
The water was rising.
Fast.
Still stunned, Alec moved to a wooden chair near the window. No power on earth could have stopped him from reading the words of his ancestor. He handled it with care; many of the pages were loose. Thumbing through it, an entry caught his eye.
At first I hated my father for insisting I follow in his steps and serve in His Majesty’s Navy.
I was not meant to serve others. But once there, well, I learned the sea was in my blood.
And I acknowledged what I have always known.
I braved danger…and relished it. I craved power… and found it. I am, after all, a duke.
And a pirate. I am also a scoundrel.
It amuses me to no end when the ladies whisper and shudder when they speak of the Black Scotsman.
How the bold blackguard plunders the seas between Scot land and Ireland.
Little do they know the Black Scots man may indeed sit across the table.
That he may be at their elbow. Little do they know the Black Scotsman is a man with two faces.
A man with two sides. Little do they know the Black Scotsman is a nobleman—a duke yet!
Alec sucked in a breath. There had truly been a pirate called the Black Scotsman. And Maura was right—the Black Scotsman was his ancestor, James McBride. He read on.
No one knows. Not even my lovely Gertrude. Not my daughter, Willa. Nor my sons, Gerald and Robert.
His eyes moved down the page, then stopped at a passage that jumped out at him.
I covet power. I covet riches. I covet the thrill.
My ship mates are loyal. They covet riches as I do.
But I have heard of a far different treasure, a mystic Celtic circle.
They say it whirls and spins of its own power, through day and night.
They say it has brought the Clan McDonough fortune through the ages.
I have vowed it will be mine, this mysterious Circle of Light.
It will surely bring me riches aplenty, and a man can never have too many riches.
Dear Lord, Alec thought. His eyes scanned the text that followed, then came to rest once more as if drawn to a particular entry.
The Circle of Light is mine. But I have paid a terrible price.
For when I first touched it, I screamed with pain.
It burned, burned like fire. I will forever wear its scar upon my hand, a terrible sight to behold.
I must forever hide it, the hand that brought me the Circle, that no one will know I am the Black Scotsman.
There was more.
The Circle is cursed. Gertrude is dead. I heard the snap of her neck as she tumbled down the stairs.
And my son—my boy!—swept by a wave as he walked along the cove.
My sweet Willa drowned in the wishing well, which now stands bone dry.
It is the Circle, I know. The Circle come to wreak vengeance on those I love.
I have sent young Robert to England. I cannot lose him, too.
The Black Scotsman is my only pleasure. I know now that the Circle of Light holds a terrible beauty. Yet I can not bear to part with it. Neither can I gaze upon it, for I hate what it has done. It holds a power over me that I cannot break.
And later:
It is done. I have buried the Circle of Light. It is both triumph and curse. I know it is here. It lies within sight of Gleneden. I cannot see it or touch it. But I know it is there, forever mine.
Alec closed the diary and got to his feet. Maura had been right all along. There was a family curse. A curse that touched both their families.
Where had James buried the Circle?
In the great hall, Alec hailed Mrs. Yates. “I believe she’s at the wishing well, your grace,” she told him.
His heart stood still. A chill ran through him.
The wishing well.
Where James McBride’s daughter had drowned.