Parting the Veil by Paulette Kennedy

CHAPTER 20

An unshakable sense of unease had fallen over Eliza since Eastleigh’s dinner party. It crept behind her as she went about her day, slinking over her thoughts as she remembered Una’s words. She often found herself standing before the locked entrance of the south wing, as if drawn there by some mysterious force. What was worse, a latent mistrust had begun to grow between her and Malcolm. She’d asked for a copy of the house keys one evening after they’d made love—a time when she found him the most malleable. Malcolm had stiffened and pulled away, muttering an illogical excuse beneath his breath.

What was he hiding?

Her new husband was an enigma. He’d been curiously obscure about the basic details of his life, revealing only the facts he felt were pertinent to their marriage and estate. His moods were increasingly mercurial, his tastes unpredictable. It was both frustrating and fascinating. And if she were being honest, more than a little concerning. If there were some sort of hereditary psychopathy that ran in his family, it was entirely within the realm of possibility her husband had fallen victim to it.

Eliza once more returned to his mother’s diary, seeking answers in Ada’s cramped, tiny words.

May 1st, 1874

’Tis Beltane. I have been biliously sick in my confinement, bedridden with cramping pains and headaches keen as a hatter’s needle. Thomas has gone to the crofters’ cottages to celebrate with a bonfire and ale, but I am left alone with Mrs. Galbraith—her beady eyes darting from corner to corner as she whispers and laughs to herself over the mending.

Yesterday I was feeling better and wanted to take the air. I rode with Galbraith to market, and on the way back, she told me a bit of gossip: ‘Every Lady Havenwood has met with a bad end.’ She said it lightly, as if it were a trifle about the weather. As if I didn’t sit there, beside her, the fourth of my kind. Galbraith has a cruel streak.

‘First there was Mary, the wife of Reginald, who slit her own throat. Charlotte fell in front of a carriage after drinking too much wine. She was the daft one!’ She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and laughed. ‘But Laura—sweet, angel-voiced Laura—she found the childbed fever after the birth of your husband. Took her three days to die, I hear.’

She stopped talking then, Galbraith. But her grin stretched wider.

‘And you will meet a bad end as well!’ That’s what she meant to say—her unspoken words poisoning the silence between her next breath and mine. I sickened again and heaved my breakfast over the side of the wagon. I had to spend the rest of the day in my room saying prayers to settle my mind.

How horrid is this house, and everyone within it!

So that’s what Una had meant by the others. The other wives. The ominousness of the passage sent a twist through her gut, but Eliza pressed onward.

September 21st, 1874

My perfect darlings were born late last night. I was sleeping when they were delivered, as surgery was necessary to bring them safely into the world. There was some degree of complication—I am told I nearly joined the rest of the unfortunate Ladies Havenwood in the halls of eternity. I can just imagine Galbraith telling everyone, ‘And Ada, only sixteen, bled out in childbirth.’ I’m happy to report I have lived, mostly to vex her.

Upon waking, weak and dizzy with my loss of blood, I was greeted with the most serene and ecstatic vision. My bairns, with their ebony curls and skin like milk, were placed in my arms, where they nuzzled their way to my breast. Though tired, I wept for joy. I was unsure of my fitness as a mother when I first learned of my condition, but now I am filled with new purpose!

I have called them Malcolm, who will be my protector, and Gabriel, who will be my warrior.

Given the dates in Ada’s diary, she’d been well into her confinement on her wedding day, which was surprising, given the virginal tone of her earlier entries. Tonight Eliza would be pressing her husband more about his family—especially about Ada. She tucked the journal beneath her mattress and dressed for dinner.

Malcolm was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs as always, beaming up at her as if she was a new revelation to his eyes. “Did you have a good day, darling?” he asked, taking her hand.

“I did indeed. Mrs. Duncan and I went to town to choose new draperies for the front drawing room. I was thinking a gold velvet with copper fringing. Won’t it match the green damask well? They have the most fanciful tiebacks at the mercantile—they look like human hands! I found them most curious.”

“Purchase whatever delights you, my love. My day wasn’t nearly as successful as your own, I’m afraid. I’m having a bit of trouble.”

“Oh?”

He pulled out her chair and kissed the back of her neck as she sat, sending a shiver from her spine to her toes.

“It seems none of our local craftsmen want to work on the manor.”

Turner poured their wine while Eliza helped herself to the cheese on her plate. Creamy, crumbly Stilton. Her favorite. “Did they say why?”

Malcolm gave his wry grin. “No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Eastleigh had something to do with it. That, or they’ve heard our old stories.”

“That’s preposterous,” Eliza said. “We’ve perfectly good money on offer and it’s mostly the roof, isn’t it?”

“The wallpaper will need to be pulled down and the plaster will have to be refinished due to the smoke and water damage. There are a few broken windows that need replacing, but yes—the roof is by far the worst of it.” Malcolm took a drink of his wine, twisting the long-stemmed goblet in his hands. “I’ll go into Southampton and see if any men are willing to come out. There are plenty of sturdy Irish there who don’t mind a bit of hard work. They shouldn’t care to know anything other than that they’ll be paid well.”

“Perhaps we can have them take a look at the pipes too,” Eliza said.

“Pipes? Why? Are we having issues with the plumbing?”

Eliza was beginning to wonder just how hard her husband had been knocked about the head when he was a child. “Really? You honestly don’t remember the night I came pounding on your door?”

Malcolm laughed. “Oh, yes. Something about the rapping in your room, wasn’t it? I was barely awake, darling.”

“You were a complete ass.” Eliza smirked and took a drink of her wine. “I nearly clobbered you with my bed slipper.”

“Well. Let me make it up to you. I was thinking we’d go for a ride this evening. Would you like that?”

Eliza’s eyes widened. “Yes, you know I would!”

“I was thinking we’ll need to find a saddle horse for you. Perhaps a Friesian mare to have as a match for Apollo. She can be your wedding gift. And we’ll begin with building your stables after the repairs to the house are complete.”

A new horse! She’d left Star with Lydia and missed her daily rides ever so much. Eliza jumped up and kissed Malcolm on the cheek. Despite his frustrating moods, he knew her so well.

Malcolm was waiting beside the fountain of Leda and the swan near the pergola, its bowers heavy with red grapes. Apollo pawed at the ground and tossed his ebony mane when he saw Eliza, and she palmed a handful of sugar cubes beneath his velvet mouth. He snuffed and gently nibbled them from her fingers.

“I knew you were going to spoil him. He’s anxious for a run. He hasn’t been on a proper ride since we married,” Malcolm said.

“It’s because you’ve been far too occupied with other diversions.”

“With no regrets on my part.” He swatted her playfully on the rump.

Eliza swung herself up onto Apollo’s back, and Malcolm settled in behind her. They flew through the rear gates and onto the wooded lane behind the mansion, galloping down the hill toward the stone circle Eliza had discovered on a summer walk that now seemed a lifetime ago. As they neared the stones, they slowed to a trot and Malcolm pulled Apollo over to a patch of clover, where he promptly lowered his head and began to graze. Malcolm helped her down from the saddle. The stars were bright pinpricks in black paper, their beauty undimmed by the waning crescent moon.

“This is my favorite place on the estate,” Malcolm said, drawing Eliza by the hand to the table-like slab at the center of the circle. “My mother, being of the north, where superstitions about stone circles are rife, was always frightened of it, but I’ve found myself drawn here since I was a boy, time and again.”

Eliza sat on the stone, giving Malcolm a mischievous grin as she leaned back on her hands. “Tell me about your mother. You’ve not offered much about her, and I want to know what she was like. I don’t even know her name.” The lie fell so easily from her lips.

Malcolm took off his hat and sat next to her. “Her name was Ada. Ada Miriam MacCulloch, the belle of Oban. She met my father when she was just a girl. She was quiet, but a bit wild around the edges. She loved to fish and hunt. She was a hell of an archer and a crack shot.”

“She sounds quite spirited.”

“She was, but she changed a great deal, over time. Mostly the fault of my father. He had a tendency to drain a person’s humor—to get inside their head. She faded a bit as the years wore on. There’s something of hers I’ve been meaning to give you, by the by.” He undid the button of his waistcoat and drew out a gleaming brooch. Its twining rowan branches formed a heart of gold, with his clan badge at the juncture, the arrow pointing upward, its tip elongated like a key.

“What is that?”

“It’s called a luckenbooth. It’s tradition for a Scottish groom to give one to his bride. This is the luckenbooth my grandfather MacCulloch gave to my grandmother. And my mother gave it to me, for the bride she knew I would one day wed.” He pinned the clasp to the bodice of her riding habit, where it rested below her shoulder. “Now you’ve the key to my own heart, mo chridhe. Always keep it with you.”

“It’s beautiful.” Eliza smiled wistfully and leaned to kiss his cheek. “I do hope your mother would have approved of me. Now that I’ve heard all about your mother, what was Gabriel like? You didn’t tell me you were a twin, by the way.”

A shadow seemed to pass over Malcolm’s countenance. “Yes. We were twins. But even so, we were different in many ways. Things between us often were not so well.” A familiar expression etched itself in the corners of his eyes. “I loved my brother, but at times, he was more like my rival. He was adventurous and free, where I was more careful and studious. I admired and envied his easy way with people. You know how it is with siblings. Their petty jealousies. Well. I’ve said enough. He’s gone and I’m still here, and there’s no use hashing out our flaws.” Malcolm went silent, looking down at his hands.

His sudden reserve spoke volumes. Eliza chose not to press things further. “The druids used stone circles like this for human sacrifice, isn’t that right?” she asked, changing the subject.

“That’s one story. There are also tales of the fair folk traipsing among them.”

“You’re talking about fairies? I didn’t take you for the fanciful sort.”

“The fae are nothing to mock in this part of the world, darling. They’re quite real to us Britons. Terrifying, rather.”

Eliza laughed. “Surely you can’t be serious? I’ll admit my disbelief may be tested when it comes to ghosts and spirits . . . but fairies are a bit of a stretch.”

“My mother told us stories that would make your hair stand on end.”

Eliza scooted closer to Malcolm, leaning against his shoulder. He was warm and solid next to her, the scent of tweed and damp moss filtering from his jacket. “I love a good scary story. Tell me. Please.”

Malcolm chuckled. “Well, if you insist. It’s a tale about a lass who lost her way in the forest beneath Ben Nevis, the tallest mountain in all of Scotland.”

“I want to go to Scotland someday. Will you ever take me?”

“Someday, mo chridhe, but first, our story.” He put his finger to her lips, quieting her, and a frisson of heat ran through her at his touch. “This pretty lass, we’ll call her Bess”—at this, he winked—“had been promised to a local minister—a fine young man with a pure heart toward God. The banns had been read, her dowry had been paid, and all of her family were gathering for her nuptials. She’d decided only the wildest mountain roses would do for her bouquet, so she trekked to the foothills of Ben Nevis the day before her wedding to gather her posy.”

“She sounds a bit reckless, doesn’t she? Walking out all alone without a chaperone.”

“Rather.” Malcolm smiled at her in the low light and wove his fingers through her own. “After Bess finished her gathering, she headed back. It was the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, but the sun had already fallen well behind the mountains, and from there, it dropped quickly. Once she’d gotten into the woods, she found the path harder and harder to see.”

Perhaps it was the hushed tone in which Malcolm was speaking, or the way the wind had picked up, tossing leaves into a whirlwind between the stones, but Eliza’s skin began to cool and prickle. “Our poor lass was well and truly lost. With only the light of the moon coming through the trees, she began to cry. She wandered about, looking for anything in the shadowy forest to help guide her way. As she pushed through the trees, into a clearing a lot like this one, she saw the flicker of firelight.”

“Someone friendly was there, I hope.”

“Oh, yes. Quite friendly indeed. Bess came into the light to see a tall man sitting by the fire. When he saw her, he stood and pulled back his cloak. She stumbled backwards, her wedding roses falling to the ground.”

“Was he a monster?” Eliza said, clutching at Malcolm’s sleeve. “A troll?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. In her dreams and fantasies, Bess could never have imagined a more seductive man than the one who stood before her.” Malcolm snapped his fingers, the crisp sound making her jump. “In an instant, every thought of her first love—her true love—was wiped from her mind. The glamour he’d put upon her was irresistible.”

Malcolm looked at her for a long moment, his face a breath away from her own. He still drove her to such distraction! Eliza leaned forward to kiss him and he leapt to his feet, pulling her with him. He spun her in a circle, and then dropped her into a dip, her head coming perilously close to the stone beneath her. He lowered her onto it and crouched over her, a gleam in his eye.

“The handsome stranger took Bess into his arms and loved her so well that she trembled beneath him until dawn.” Malcolm nuzzled her neck with the pointed tip of his nose, drawing a sigh from her throat. “When the sun came up, he whispered pretty lies into her ears and set her on the path toward home. Her groom waited for hours at the altar in tears. His bride never appeared. Bess, on the other hand, was aglow with the ecstasy of new love. Alas, her happiness was to be short-lived.

“Though she trekked to the foot of Ben Nevis each day, hungry for the fairy lord’s touch, her strange lover never returned to the stone ring as he’d promised. He’d seduced his prize and abandoned her, just as he’d seduced many maidens before her. Our bonny lass withered and grew weak—even her mother’s prayers were futile. After a time, she died. The hunters and trackers say her shade haunts the forests and the mountain to this day, screaming and weeping for the gancanagh who stole her heart.”

“And are you a gancanagh, my love?” Eliza arched her back as his hands roved over her.

“Perhaps I am. And if so, you should be very frightened.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m about to ravage you into ruin.”