Page 41 of Single Desire
“To this day,” Alec said quietly, “no one can really say what illness claimed my father.”
Maura knew. A fierce certainty took hold. It was the curse. The curse that plagued the clans McDonough and McBride—the Clan McDonough as punishment for failing to guard the Circle of Light.
And the McBrides for stealing it.
They moved on to view several more portraits. All at once a queer sensation seized hold of her. It was as if some force outside her body made her turn to the opposite wall.
She nearly cried out.
It was like her dream reborn.
A man with a black feathered hat stared down at her, over hair as black as midnight. His eyes were blue, hard as rock; they gleamed as if to mock her. As if he knew something no one else did. As if he knew something she did not.
Her heart pounded quick and hard, almost painfully. The Black Scotsman, she realized. Beneath a dark, heavy moustache,his lips pulled back in a leer. It was like being drawn back into her dream. She could swear that eerie laughter spilled forth. On his hand—his left hand only—he wore a black leather glove, clamped over his sword. A chill spread over her, a chill that seemed to ice the very air in her lungs.
Alec stepped up beside her.
Maura heard herself whisper, “Who is he?”
“That is James, the seventh Duke of Gleneden. Nasty looking fellow, isn’t he?”
Evil was the word that came to her. She stared at that black-gloved hand. A shiver went through her, a shiver she felt in her very heart. It was as if she could feel that hand wrapped around her throat, choking the life from her.
“I would have to check the family annals, but I believe he endured some sort of family tragedy. He had but one son, I think. Luckily for that,” Alec said dryly, “else I wouldn’t be here with you now.”
The curse again.
“I would love to look at the family annals sometime,” she said. “Such things can be fascinating reading. One should take pride in one’s family origins, don’t you think?”
“I quite agree. When I was young, no doubt I could have told you his wife’s name, if he had brothers or sisters, all of those things. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten some of it,” Alec admitted.
Perhaps it was true, then, that the Black Scotsman had concealed his identity even from his family. Or perhaps Alec wouldn’t own up to having a black sheep in the family.
Dragging in a deep breath, Maura turned away. She could no longer bear to look at James, seventh Duke of Gleneden.
Her breath was still quick and hard. She fought to calm her heart. She fought to regain vision of the Circle of Light, the way it appeared in this morning’s dream. Silver and glowing. Floating on a bed of nothingness. Reflecting every color in the world.
Somehow she had to find it.
And pray it would end this curse once and for all.
When it came time for supper, she donned the crimson taffeta gown she had worn the day after the masquerade, when she and Murdoch met with Alec in the baron’s study. The color, she had discovered, lent her strength.
Nor was Alec’s demeanor disagreeable. Quite the contrary. He was as amiable as he’d been this morning, and supper was not the ordeal she had feared it might be.
Yet she was under no illusions as to Alec’s behavior. She had the uneasy feeling that during the afternoon, while they were together, he’d been digging, prying into her background. She prayed he was satisfied with her answers; she was fairly sure she had given him no reason to doubt her.
After dinner he shared with her tales of his travels. He’d been to America. To the Continent. To Egypt to visit the tombs of ancient pharaohs.
Maura found herself listening with rapt absorption, her elbows on the table, one hand supporting her chin, not caring that she displayed poor manners. Prior to coming to Scotland, Dublin had been the extent of her travels, she thought wistfully.
The evening passed far more quickly than she’d anticipated. After the last dish was removed, Alec slid his chair back and rose to his feet and extended a hand. Maura hesitated. A hasty glance upward revealed his regard was ripe with amusement.
Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand in his and rose.
“A glass of wine in the rose parlor, Irish? Or perhaps the great hall. It’s quite cozy to sit before the fire with a glass of brandy.”
She shot him a telling glance.
