She peered over the wall. “There are two streams, not one. They flow together at the back of the hill.”
“The one below is called the Burn of Grief, and the other is the Burn of Despair. Another reason for calling this Castle Doom.”
She made a face. “What a grim lot these Highlanders were.”
“There’s truth in the romantic tales Walter Scott and others have woven about the Highlands, but it’s always been a hard life.” He looked north toward Kinnockburn. “I think my mother married my father mostly to bring English money to her glen so the crofters wouldn’t starve. She was the Maiden of Kinnockburn—the hereditary chieftain of her branch of the Campbells. The only asset she had was her beauty, so she went to London and found a lord so besotted he’d agree to her marriage terms.”
“Wrexham, besotted?” Troth asked in amazement.
“Hard to imagine, but true. He adored her.” Kyle offered his arm and they resumed their ascent. “In the marriage settlement between them, it’s specified that her inheritance be put into a permanent trust so it can never be enclosed and the crofters forced to leave the glen, which has happened in too many places in the Highlands.”
“Your father agreed to that? I may end up approving of him in spite of myself.”
“He’s difficult, but his sense of justice is admirable. He understood my mother’s fierce attachment to the glen and her need to serve her people. She spent several months a year in Scotland as the Lady of Kinnockburn, running around in bare feet and plaid like any crofter’s wife. We children spent a good amount of time there, too. Especially me, since ultimately it’s my responsibility to see that the glen prospers.”
“Did you run around barefoot also?”
“Indeed I did.”
“That explains a great deal,” Troth said thoughtfully. “The crofters are lucky your mother was willing and able to make such a bargain. Did she and your father love each other?”
“I think so. Each of them placed their duty before their personal pleasures. That was probably one of their most powerful bonds.”
“What a woman your mother must have been.”
“You’d have liked her, Troth. And she would have loved you.”
Troth tugged the Campbell plaid closer. “I wish I’d met her.”
“Lucia is very much like her. All three of us have the look of the Highlands.”
As the track became even steeper, they started to zigzag back and forth across the incline, which lengthened the distance but made the climbing easier. Though they had to rest several more times, Troth never suggested turning back.
Even so, when they passed through the broken gate that opened to the lowest of the three castle levels, Troth staggered toward the shade of the nearest tree. “Next time you mention a steep hill,” she panted, “remind me to flee in the opposite direction.”
She was about to flop on the ground when a bristling feline leaped from the undergrowth beside the tree with bared teeth and a fierce growl. Troth gave a squeak of dismay and retreated. “What is that?”
He caught her arm and drew her farther away. “A wildcat. See the stripes and whiskers? She’s a close cousin of your grandmother’s tabby, actually. Her fur is up, but underneath she’s not much larger than a barn cat.”
“The difference is that Grandmother’s tabby likes me. Your wildcat looks like it wants me for dinner.” Troth circled the tree, keeping a wary eye on the glowering cat.
“This is the season for kittens, and her den must be hidden near the tree. A den so close to the path proves how few people come here—usually wildcats are very shy.”
“Does mother love make a female dangerous?”
“So they say. You’d make a fierce mother, I’m sure.”
She gave him a swift glance, then turned away. “I’m ravenous. Perhaps we can eat on this level before climbing to the higher ruins?”
Hungry himself, he unpacked the basket, starting with a coarse blanket that he spread under another tree where they could admire the rugged hills and picturesque ruins. As they ate, the wind rose, rustling the leaves and sending clouds racing overhead. “It feels as if a storm is coming. We should aim to be finished with our sight-seeing and back at the carriage by the time it strikes.”
“There is always new weather coming,” she retorted. “I never knew what it was to stand in the sunshine and have rain falling on my head until I came to Scotland. No wonder you hired a carriage with a bonnet that could be pulled over us.”
“It’s all part of that romantic Scottish experience you wanted.” Troth was such a perfect companion that it was hard to imagine not having her at his side. He’d love to take her to Italy, France, Spain. Everywhere.
Yet it was likely that soon she would announce that the handfast was over, and it was time for him to remove his unwanted self from her sight. The thought was so painful that he felt a powerful impulse to seduce her right now, so they would both remember the rare passion they shared.
He was on the verge of leaning over for a kiss when she covered a yawn, then curled up on the blanket. “Is there time for me to take a nap? I’m tired from the climb.”
He forced his tense muscles to relax. “We’ve time. If I wander, it won’t be far.”
She folded part of the plaid under her head and draped the rest over her as a blanket. Though it would be wiser to put distance between them, he lingered to watch her as she dozed, as unself-conscious as a kitten. What a beautiful blend of East and West was in her face, with its fascinating planes and silken skin. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon today, sunlight turning loose tendrils to dark, shining mahogany. And that supple, feminine body, as strong as it was elegant…
Groin tightening, he collected the remains of a beef-and-kidney pie that Troth had tried and disliked, then crossed to where they’d seen the wildcat. He set the pie on the ground, then withdrew and watched. It wasn’t long until the wildcat emerged from the shrubbery and cast a cautious glance around before seizing the pie and vanishing again. He smiled. She and her kittens would dine well.
Preferring to wait for Troth before visiting the keep, he ambled across the lowest level. Despite the sunshine, he still felt a lingering sense of uneasiness.
The castle precinct occupied the whole top of the crag. Most of this level had consisted of gardens, but tucked in a back corner he found a chapel. Surprisingly, the small stone building was intact, with even the slate roof in fairly good condition. The English soldiers who’d wrecked Castle Doom to prevent it from being a threat in the future must have decided to leave the chapel alone. Perhaps they’d feared divine wrath.
On his first visit he’d missed the chapel entirely. Engaged in a competition to see who could reach the top of the fortress first, he and Dominic hadn’t paid much attention to this level. Thoughtless creatures, boys. Typically, they’d reached the highest level at virtually the same time. There might have been less competition if they hadn’t been so perfectly matched.
The wide, iron-bound door swung open with a rusty squeal. He stepped into a sanctuary of peace and light. Though birds had nested in the baptismal font, the simple wooden cross still stood on the altar and the sturdy oak pews were in place, if dusty. Crofters from the neighboring hills must be tending the chapel.
He sat in the front pew, dust and all. When he finally got around to hiring another valet, the man would probably start by burning Kyle’s entire wardrobe because of the abuse it had suffered.
The stained glass in the windows was long gone, leaving stone traceries that cast shadows of intricate beauty where the sun poured in. He closed his eyes, feeling the same sacredness in this simple, abandoned chapel that he had experienced in the gilded spaces of Hoshan. Centuries of prayer had hallowed it.
In my end, I find my beginning. The words that had rung in his mind at Hoshan echoed through him once more. Then he’d thought it ironic to travel halfway around the world to experience spiritual insights he’d failed to absorb in his own church. Now he’d come home, full circle. But where Ho
shan had produced a scalding sense of transformation, now he felt a slow, powerful tide of awareness.
The tide rose, filling him with warmth and quiet joy. His mind drifted to other sacred places he’d visited that had touched him deeply. Perhaps the soul wasn’t a foundation but a mosaic composed of myriad small insights and transcendental moments. He’d traveled the world collecting pieces for his personal mosaic, and now he could dimly see the overall pattern.
Though he hadn’t heard her footsteps on the flagstone floor, he was unsurprised when Troth’s hand slipped into his. When she’d settled on the pew beside him, he opened his eyes. “I think I found the missing piece of my soul.”
She regarded him gravely. “How did that happen?”
“In Hoshan I experienced profound spiritual awareness,” he said slowly. “It began with a devastating recognition of my failures and shortcomings. Only when all my pride and arrogance had been stripped away did I experience divine compassion so infinite that it could forgive all my weaknesses and fill me with light.
“For those of us who are less than saints, I think it’s impossible to stay in such an exalted state, but I left Hoshan feeling closer to spiritual grace than I’d ever been. Then I was captured, and it seemed as if I’d lost everything I had learned. Only now do I see that in prison I was being taught another essential lesson.”
“Suffering to enhance compassion?”
“That was surely part of it, but more important was to endure complete loss of control.” He smiled wryly. “For most of my life, I’ve had a great deal of power to shape my world. In prison, I had no power at all. When and what I ate, my physical movements, even my very existence, were all in the hands of others. When the fever struck, I wasn’t even master of my own body. By the end of my captivity I was praying for death. It was as if the essence of my being had been wrenched away.”
“Aaahhhh.” She exhaled softly. “No wonder you were in such dire straits when you returned to England. Your soul had been separated from your body, and they were slow to find each other again.”
“That’s a good way to put it.” He studied her face. “Your experience was similar, wasn’t it? Your captivity was gentler, your cell larger, but you were also imprisoned, unable to be a woman or to reveal both sides of your heritage. No wonder that now that you’ve escaped one prison, you’re reluctant to enter another.”
Her eyes widened. “Yes! That’s it exactly. Marriage does seem like a prison.”
“I’ll never cage you, Troth Mei-Lian,” he said softly. “If my experience in Feng-tang was to show me that I have only as much control over my life as God is willing to grant, I’d be a thrice-damned fool to try to control a free spirit like yours.”
She swallowed. “You’re a dangerously persuasive man, Lord Maxwell.”
“On the contrary.” His gaze went to the cross on the altar. “I’m a clumsy fellow who needs to learn his lessons over and over again.”
“In each lesson, the student advances a little further in his spiritual studies.” Her clasp tightened on his hand. “Do you wish you had become a minister of your church?”
“I wouldn’t be much good in a vicarage. My personal ministry, I think, is to use the power I’ve inherited with justice and compassion. And for myself—well, in the future I’ll remember to visit places like this often enough to prevent more holes from developing in my spirit.” He raised their linked hands and kissed her knuckles. “Shall we continue our climb to the top of the castle?”
She gave him a dazzling smile. “Yes, my lord.”
When they reached the highest place and could see miles in all directions, he’d ask her to marry him, he decided. After all, marriage was the goal of a courtship.
And if she didn’t accept him today—well, he’d ask again tomorrow.
Chapter 43
Her hand in Kyle’s, Troth climbed to the next level of the castle, feeling buoyant from the pure, clean rush of his chi. Even if he hadn’t spoken, she would have known that the chapel had crystallized his spiritual healing. Wholeness had been coming gradually, she realized, as he fought his way back to physical and emotional health after the ordeal he’d endured in China.
Ruefully she recognized that she hadn’t been much help to him. She’d gone from anxious servility to prickly anger, skipping the intermediate stage of being a caring, helpful friend, let alone a true wife. She’d been of no use to either him or herself. The weeks since his return had been difficult for them both. Yet they’d survived, and were both regaining internal harmony. What might that lead to?
The second level of the castle contained low, crumbled stone sheds that had been used for storage, workshops, and livestock. Rather than explore, they continued climbing and went through the gate of the third and highest level. The keep, guardhouses, and other essential buildings, all roofless now, were set around three sides of a courtyard. The fourth side, on the south, was formed by the high stone wall that they’d just passed through, which separated the main level from the workshops.
The approaching storm had stiffened the wind to the point where it would take a man’s hat off, but that only added to the barbaric splendor of the setting. Troth threw back her head and laughed, because she was happy and Castle Doom was as wild and free as the wind itself.
The main keep ran along the east wall to their right, but Kyle gestured left to the stone steps that ran up to the battlements in the southwest corner of the courtyard. “If you can manage one last climb, you’ll be able to see half of central Scotland.”
She gave him a teasing glance. “I shall manage. I’m not so sure that you will.”
Before he could reply, an ear-numbing boom shattered the air. Troth winced, thinking it was thunder from the coming storm.
As another bolt shook the skies, Kyle grabbed her around the waist and physically dragged her through the empty doorway of the keep. More thunder sounded while he yanked her left from the door and flattened her against the stone wall. Disoriented, she gasped, “What are you doing?”
“Someone’s out there, and he’s shooting to kill,” he said grimly.
Before Troth could protest, several more cracks sounded, and she saw debris flying upward from the ground inside the doorway, less than a yard away from them. She stared in horror at the pockmarked earth. “Why would someone be shooting at us?”
“I wish I knew. Perhaps it’s a madman who has taken up residence here and resents intruders.”
She could feel the beating of his heart where they pressed together. He was protecting her, she realized. No bullet could strike her without going through him first. “How did you know so quickly?”
“In India I joined some army patrols on the NorthWest Frontier. Very educational. The Afghans are excellent shots. One doesn’t forget the sound of a rifle when it is aimed at one’s heart.”
She was willing to bet he’d never mentioned such expeditions to his father. The thought of him there horrified her, and she hadn’t even known Kyle then.
The shooting had stopped after they disappeared from view, so he withdrew a step and pulled off his coat. After bunching the fabric, he edged the coat into the open doorway at head level. Another ragged volley sounded, and from the way the fabric jerked she guessed that at least one bullet had struck Kyle’s decoy. As he put the coat on again, she saw the white of his shirt through scorched, smoldering holes.
“I think there must be at least two men, and they’re carrying multishot rifles,” he said coolly. “Probably they’re in the guardhouse directly opposite us, so they have a clear view of the whole courtyard, including the gate that leads to the lower level. We’d be riddled with bullets before we moved ten feet toward the gate.”
“I didn’t know there were multishot rifles.”
“Several of the most expensive London gunsmiths make them. It’s not the kind of weapon a poor, crazed Scottish hermit would be carrying.”
Grasping for hope, she asked, “You always travel armed, don’t you?”
“Yes,
but all I have is a single-shot pistol that would be good only at close quarters. Useless against two rifles.”
When she started to ask another question, he placed his hand over her mouth as he listened. The only sound was the wail of the wind. If someone was moving stealthily across the courtyard toward their refuge in the keep, there was no warning sound. The knowledge that the killer might be approaching even now made Troth’s skin crawl.
Kyle pulled out his traveling pistol and cocked it, aiming it in the direction of the door as he raised his voice. “If we’re trespassing on your property, please accept my deepest apologies. Allow us to go unharmed and we’ll never bother you again.”
“Aye, then,” a thickly Scottish voice boomed across the courtyard. “Come ye out and ye can leave safely if ye swear ne’er to come back.”
Troth frowned, thinking the voice familiar, but Kyle’s face hardened like granite. “I don’t trust you to let us walk away unharmed, Caleb Logan,” he called back.
Her jaw dropped as she recognized the voice of her father’s old partner. But why would he be here, trying to kill them?
“So you know it’s me,” Logan said jovially, reverting to his normal accent. “You guessed right, too—you willna leave Castle Doom alive. You took your time getting here, though. Scouse and I got bloody bored waiting for you to arrive.”
“Damnation, Logan’s the one who suggested bringing you here,” Kyle said under his breath. “It was such a good idea that it never occurred to me that he was setting a trap. God only knows why he wants us dead. Do you know who Scouse is?”
Troth nodded. “One of Logan’s sea captains. They say he’s a vicious devil.”
“A reliable ally for murder, in other words.” Kyle scanned the empty shell of the keep that was both shelter and prison. Four stories tall and the largest of the ruined buildings, the keep was the eastern wing of a U-shaped series of structures, all roofless and of varying heights. The doorway through which they’d entered was the only opening on the ground floor. All other doors and windows were two or more stories up the walls. The builders of Castle Doom hadn’t wanted enemies to be able to enter easily.