Page 65 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)
Chapter Twenty-Two
Twilight was all about him as Ross made his way across the windswept heath, the trees behind him now, their shadows long and thin, stretching out before him as if trying to pull him back.
The smell of salt was in the air. An army of flies buzzed around him.
His legs ached. A deadening sleep seemed to creep upward from his feet.
His horse snorted and the bit rang hollow against his teeth.
Strange noises seemed all about him and he had the feeling he was awake and in a strange ominous dream from which there would be no awakening.
Suddenly a great shadow passed over him, a shadow shaped like giant, outstretched wings, and darkness seemed upon him all at once.
Cold stars glinted faintly through the gathering mist, and dampness seemed to penetrate to the marrow of his bones. And then he saw it, the towers and gables of Seaforth, rising stiff and dark and silent into the shadows of night like sentinels calling him forth.
His burden lay heavy across his legs. The numbness was in his bones now, but he knew he was close.
He guided his horse up the steep, narrow road that led to Seaforth.
When he reached the front door, he slid off his horse.
The reins fell to the ground unheeded as he pulled the body off and into his arms.
When he reached the door, Ross kicked it with his foot. Once. Twice. On the third kick, it opened. A long yellow beam of light flowed outward from the open door.
The streets of heaven are paved with gold.
He stumbled inside.
Upstairs, Annabella was in her dressing gown, brushing her hair, when she heard a commotion downstairs. Someone screamed. She dropped the brush and was halfway down the stairs when she saw Ross standing in the great hall, her brother’s body draped like a bloody battle flag in his arms.
No , her mind screamed. Not Gavin…please, not Gavin. But it was Gavin, and no amount of denial would change that. Her terror-filled eyes could not move from the sight of her brother’s blood smeared like a great stain of guilt across the front of Ross’ shirt and down the front of his pants.
She had loved this man—loved him and he had killed her brother. No, not Ross. Ross couldn’t. Ross wouldn’t. She looked at Gavin’s body. He’s dead. Dead…dead…dead. Even then, she refused to believe Ross would do such a thing.
Not Ross, with the smiling eyes and the gentle hands. Not the man who had loved her so gently and so well. No , her mind screamed. No. Please, no. But as the words of denial faded, the last words she had heard Ross speak rose like great black wings of promise in the shadowy recesses of her mind.
Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do, or sacrifice, I will. Nothing will keep me from having you. Nothing.
Not murder , she wanted to shout. Oh, dearest God.
Not this. Not the murder of my brother. But the words would not come.
Something within her shattered and she felt overpowered, as if something, some groping, terrible thing, had seized her.
She heard the sound of hooves thundering as something dark passed over her mind—a great, black shadow that grew darker as the sound of hooves grew louder.
The thunder of hooves stopped, and the shadow began to swirl, faster and faster until it died away, leaving nothing behind but silence and a riderless white horse.
A long wail pierced the air, moaning like the wind—the cry of a lonely, anguished creature. It grew louder and louder, then ended with a shrill, piercing scream that left a chill in the blood. And then there was nothing.
It was then that Annabella realized the scream had been torn from her own throat. “Oh, my God!” she shrieked, hurrying down the stairs. “He’s hurt.” She ran to them, seeing Gavin’s blood was everywhere. “Is it bad?” she asked. “Is he hurt badly?”
“He’s dead,” Ross said. “Stabbed in the back.”
Her face was blank, her eyes vacant. “No,” she said, pushing Gavin’s hair back from his cold, pale face. “He isn’t dead. Bring him upstairs. I will tend his wound. He’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
Barra gripped her arms and shook her. “Gavin is dead, Annabella. Don’t be denying the truth of what you see, lass. Admit what you see.”
Una placed her hand on Barra’s arm. “Don’t, love. Don’t make…”
“She has to realize the truth. Her mind won’t be right until she does.” He shook Annabella again. “Say it, lass. Tell me Gavin is dead.”
“No!” she screamed, breaking away from Barra’s hold. Wavering on the brink of hysteria, she wrapped her hands around her waist, rocking back and forth as she began to chant. “He can’t be dead. He can’t be dead.” Her voice faded slowly to a hoarse whisper.
Una came to her, but she pushed her away. “He’s my brother. He isn’t dead. He can’t be.” Slowly sinking to the floor, Annabella felt the world spinning around her as her words came back to her like a shattering echo, and a great force sucked her into a black void.
“Bring the lad in here,” Barra said. “Allan, you go for the doctor and the officials. And send word to your Uncle Alisdair in London.”
“The doctor?” Ailie looked up, her face streaked with tears. “If Gavin is dead, why do you need the doctor?”
“Gavin has been murdered. An official will need to see the body. Now, help your mother get Annabella upstairs.”
Barra turned to Ross. “How did this happen? Where did you find the lad?”
“On the road not far from here,” Ross said.
“Was he dead when you found him?”
“Yes, but not for too long. His body was still warm.” Ross shook his head, looking at Barra in a helpless way. “Why would anyone want him dead? It wasn’t robbery. He has plenty of money on him.”
Barra shook his head, then rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know why anyone would want Gavin dead. He’s barely known in these parts.”
“Well, someone knew him well enough to want him dead.”
“Aye,” Barra said. “Someone did.”
Annabella lay on her bed. Her hands were like ice.
Her brow was damp. A great sucking breath seemed to be drawing the life from her.
The dream kept coming to her, again and again, until all she could remember were the four horses—black, red, white, and pale—and the agonizing reminder that her brother was dead and that Ross had Gavin’s blood on his hands.
She lay there for a long, long time, fully awake, her eyes vacant and staring at nothing.
Her whole body ached with cold, but she didn’t care.
Her head, where it had struck the floor, throbbed painfully.
She was glad for the pain and wished for more—enough to wipe out the pain of Gavin’s death, the pain of knowing Ross had killed him, the pain of knowing it had all happened because of her.
Gavin.
Gavin had always been there. He was something she took for granted.
And now he was gone. It was the only time he had ever let her down.
Her brother. Her beloved brother. And now he was gone.
Dead. Her life was over. She could see that much clearly.
The vision of the four horses came to her often now, but it no longer caused anguish in her.
She had separated herself from pain now.
Pain. It could not touch her. She could not see what happened around her, only that which lay in her past. She saw Gavin as a child, pushing her in the swing in the oak tree behind Saltwood Castle, sending her higher and higher, the sound of his laughter drifting back over her like the tickling flutter of snowflakes.
She could see her father giving Gavin his first pony when he was seven and how Gavin took her for the first ride.
Father. He will hate me now. As I hate myself.
She saw her mother, who could never hate her, although she would never be able to forgive her for what she had done. And her sisters? Would they hate her as her father would, or would they simply turn their backs when she entered the room?
Una came into her bedroom with a cup of hot broth for her.
Annabella turned her face to the wall. Her aunt smoothed the hair back from her face and pulled the cover up beneath her chin, then turned away, closing the door softly behind her.
Thoughts of Gavin crept forward. Bella tried to push them away.
She did not want to think of Gavin. It hurt too much. Thoughts of Gavin would drive her mad.
The pain of knowing he lay somewhere in stone-cold silence was more than she could bear.
Gavin was cold. He lay upon something hard and cold.
His coldness called out to her. She had to help him.
She couldn’t leave him cold. She pulled herself from the bed and the world spun around her.
Her eyes closed and she dropped to the floor, lying upon the cold stones, too wounded to cry, begging God to let her die.
When Una came with her breakfast the next morning, she found her on the floor and said, “Oh, child, child, you mustn’t take on so.”
On the third day she drank a glass of milk and ate three mouthfuls of soup, only because Una reasoned she needed something in her stomach if she was going to the funeral.
Una bathed her face and laid out her black silk dress.
Ailie came in to help her mother fasten the row of buttons down the back.
They led her to the mirror and began brushing her hair.
Annabella looked at her reflection and saw a pale face with huge eyes and witch’s hair.
“Bitch,” she screamed and threw a perfume bottle at the mirror.
It shattered, bits of glass digging into her hands, but she did not care.
She welcomed pain now. It was her only companion.
When Ailie or Una tried to speak to her, she turned her face away.
She went downstairs and sat in the library with her brother’s body from eight o’clock the morning of the funeral until half-past three when they came to take him away. She rode in the carriage behind him, never taking her eyes from his coffin. She was so weak she had to be helped from the carriage.
After the funeral, she was put to bed with a sedative to help her sleep. During the next few days, she existed in her own world. Not even Ross could get through to her. Anytime he tried, she made no response, not one flicker of emotion that even showed she had heard him.
She understood everything he said, but her heart was twisted with grief and guilt. Annabella could not help thinking it had been her fault, the price that had been extracted to pay for her disobedience. If only she had listened to him that day. If she had agreed with the things he had said.
But she hadn’t. And now he was dead. Death was so final.
As final as the ending of the love she had shared with Ross.
It wasn’t that she no longer loved him; nothing could put an end to that, not even knowing he had killed her brother.
She hated him. She wanted him dead. But none of those things could make her stop loving him.
Tears scalded her eyes and she turned her head away. She didn’t know what she was going to do. The wedding, of course, would be off—wouldn’t it? Dear God, she could not go through with it now. Her mind raced ahead to the time when her parents would arrive.
Three days after the funeral, Ross found Barra in his study. His worry and concern for Bella were driving him to desperation.
“I know you don’t want to leave her at a time like this,” Barra said after Ross had spoken to him, “but I think it best. Her mother and father will be here soon. Enough powder kegs have blown up in our faces. There is sure to be another one if you’re here when Alisdair and Anne arrive.”
Ross left Seaforth. Annabella refused to see him before he went. Word came to Seaforth the following week that her family would not be coming. Her father had written that his wife had taken to her bed upon hearing the news of Gavin’s death.
Your brother is buried now and nothing can be helped by my coming, and your mother is not up to taking such a journey.
Don’t worry about her. Her health is as good as can be expected.
She has lost some weight, but the doctor feels this is all a part of her grieving.
In time that, too, will pass, as the anguish of losing him gives way to the sadness of missing his smiling face.
He was a bright light in all of our lives and his presence will be greatly missed.
Of all my children, I know the two of you were closest. My grief is deeper in knowing your pain, too, is great.
I cannot say you have acted wisely in all of this, Annabella, but neither can I condemn you for the way you have felt.
To do so would blacken your brother’s memory, for I know he would not want his death to come between us.
Because he would have forgiven you, I can do no less.
But I do think it best if you remain at Seaforth, at least for the time being.
Lord Huntly still wants the marriage to take place, but understands that it will have to be postponed until after the mourning period for Gavin is over.