Page 43 of Single Desire
She shook her head. “Not yet. The house is large, each wing built in different centuries.” She hesitated. “It may take longer than I expected,” she admitted. “But the Circle is there, Murdoch.” She told him about the portrait of James, the seventh Duke of Gleneden. As she spoke, a shiver slid down her spine. “Alec said he endured some sort of family tragedy. And I know why.” Her tone turned bitter.
“The curse?” asked Murdoch.
Maura nodded. “I searched through the family annals—I told Alec I was fascinated by such things. But there was little about him. The date he married, and the date of his son’s birth and death.” She scowled. “For such a scoundrel, he lived to a ripe old age. Why, he was nearly eighty years old when he died. I wonder when he ceased his pirating days.”
She was silent for a moment. Her eyes grew dark. “Murdoch, the Circle is here. I know it. I can feel it. It is uncanny. I cannot explain why, but somehow I just know it is. I—oh, I know it sounds silly, but it’s just as Papa said. As if I can hear the Circle calling to me. Crying out.”
Murdoch squeezed her shoulder. “Ye need not convince me, child,” he said gently. “I have faith that you will find it.”
Maura smiled at him, then held up a finger. “Wait,” she said. “Wait.” She went to her mare and untied two small sacks. Dropping to her knees, she untied one and brought out two large candlestick holders with a flourish. “Look!” She licked a fingertip and rubbed it against the base. “Pure silver! I brought this pair and another, a tray and a gilt-edged vase as well. Sell them and take the money home to Nan.”
“Lady Maura!” Murdoch couldn’t hide his distress. “What if the duke discovers they are gone?”
She scowled. “He will not. The Black Scotsman stole from us. And these will never even be missed. I found them in the garret.” Which she had. Well, the candlesticks, at least, so it wasn’t entirely a lie. The candlesticks were in the garret. The tray and the vase had come from a bedchamber in the old wing.
Murdoch took the sacks, his expression sober. “I know that look, lass. Take care that ye are not too bold.”
Maura knew what he meant, that she should take no more risk than she dared.
They arranged to meet in the same place two weeks hence. She gave him a hasty peck on the cheek, mounted the mare and rode back to Gleneden.
Outside the stable, she handed the reins to a groom. Whistling a merry little tune, she rounded the corner, only to bump headlong into a form as solid as a granite wall.
Strong heads steadied her. “There you are,” Alec said smoothly. “Where were you?”
“Just out for a bit of a ride.” How lame that sounded!
“Along the road?”
“Through the fields mostly.”
“No wonder I didn’t see you, then. I just came from the village—”
Maura’s heart lurched. Mercy, what if he’d seen her with Murdoch!
“—but once I was home, when I went to find you, no one knew where you were.”
“Why were you looking for me?” She sought to quiet the quick, hard pounding of her heart.
“We’ve spent no time together today, your grace. I thought we might walk down to the loch.”
Your grace. Maura felt her skin grow hot. Must he call her that? It was intentional, she was sure, in order to discomfit her.
Which, of course, it did.
“Have you been there yet, Irish?”
“No. You told me you would show me a path through the woods.”
Alec took her arm. “I did, didn’t I?”
They walked past the north wing toward the forest. They hadn’t gone more than a half mile when Maura stopped short. “Oh, look!” she cried. “How lovely.” She pointed to a stone bridge that crossed a small brook. A vine-covered archway led into a small open clearing. “What is that? A well?” A timbered roof, almost a miniature of the one in the great hall, covered a round stone well.
“Yes. It’s always been known as the wishing well.”
Maura had already started across the bridge. She paused near the well, glancing around. “It’s lovely here, so quiet and tranquil.”
Alec propped a hip on the stony wall of the well. “A matter of opinion. My mother finds the well charming. It was bricked up for years, even in my grandfather’s time, I believe. My mother had it opened again when I was a boy.” He pointed to a stone bench on the other side of the clearing. “A bit solitary for my taste, but she finds it peaceful and sometimes comes here to read.”
