showed the beginning of respect, although he doubted she understood what the word meant, obviously having been allowed to run unsupervised for too many years.
“I’ve wasted enough time,” he said, moving past her but deliberately not glancing at the portrait. “What am I going to do with this place?”
She touched the pendant around her neck. “When I didn’t know what to do about a problem, my mother always read to me from the Bible.”
He almost laughed at her incredible naivete. “I suspect this castle is beyond even the Almighty’s help.”
Marsali stared at his broad, sun-burnished shoulders in annoyance. She had her work cut out for her, all right, turning this hard man into a wise and compassionate ruler. She couldn’t decide if she should question her uncle’s vision on the matter. After all, Uncle Colum had gotten the timing wrong for the ambush on the captain of the dragoons. Her own intuition on the m atter had apparently become mud dled by her embarrassing preoccupation with Duncan’s physical presence.
“Take me to Abercrombie, Marsali,” Duncan said, sounding impatient.
Marsali didn’t move, dreading what was about to happen. She wasn’t responsible for what had happened to Abercrombie, whose fate no one in the castle either knew or cared to admit. But Duncan would probably find a way to blame her all the same.
He glanced around, studying her worried face.
“Dear God.” He took an involuntary step toward her. “The blasted fools have murdered him, haven’t they? They’ve actually murdered an appointee of the Crown.” Marsali opened her mouth but no sound came out, leaving her in condemning silence.
“Answer me, Marsali.” His face became a study in darkness, unyielding angl es, shadowed planes. The devil- boy in the portrait full grown, in the flesh. “When was the last time you saw Abercrombie?”
“Well.” Her voice finally emerged as a nervous croak. “Well, that would have been on Hogmanay.”
“January.” He frowned. “Six months ago. Was he alive?”
She stared down at the tips of her scuffed boots. “You have to understand that he was a horrible little man.”
He came forward, forcing Marsali to stumble back until she stood directly under the portrait of him with all its insulting graffiti. Yes, he was that boy. Urges of a definitely demoniac nature were rearing inside him.
“He was walking the edges of the battlements blindfolded,” she said in a small choked voice.
“What? Was the man trying to commit suicide?”
Marsali put her hand to her heart again. It gave her palpitations when his voice dropped to that ominous baritone. “I was delivering some herbs to Cook at the time, so I never really knew the details. However, from what I could gather, Mr. Abercrombie wasn’t exactly walking the battlements blindfolded of his own free will.”
“Where is he now?” Duncan asked, his face grim.
Marsali dared draw a breath. “To be honest, the last I heard he was hiding out in the chapel.”
“In a coffin?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
He caught hold of her hand, crushing the feeling from her fingers. “The chapel. God help me. Heads are going to roll if they’ve killed a government agent.”
C h apter
5
D uncan plucked loose a handful of the arrows embedded in the exterior of the chapel’s heavy oaken door and threw them to his feet. “It’s Duncan MacElgin, Abercrombie,” he shouted, kneeling at the keyhole. “If you’re in there, man, answer me.”
Silence. Then a shuffling so faint Duncan couldn’t tell if he was conversing with a man or a family of mice inside the chapel. “I’m a friend, Abercrombie. Open this damned door now!”
“Savages,” a muffled voice responded. “MacElgin is naught but another word for savages, and this castle the Devil’s playing field.”
Duncan glanced back at Marsali, catching her broad grin before she could wipe it off her face. “You find this amusing,
“I’ve wasted enough time,” he said, moving past her but deliberately not glancing at the portrait. “What am I going to do with this place?”
She touched the pendant around her neck. “When I didn’t know what to do about a problem, my mother always read to me from the Bible.”
He almost laughed at her incredible naivete. “I suspect this castle is beyond even the Almighty’s help.”
Marsali stared at his broad, sun-burnished shoulders in annoyance. She had her work cut out for her, all right, turning this hard man into a wise and compassionate ruler. She couldn’t decide if she should question her uncle’s vision on the matter. After all, Uncle Colum had gotten the timing wrong for the ambush on the captain of the dragoons. Her own intuition on the m atter had apparently become mud dled by her embarrassing preoccupation with Duncan’s physical presence.
“Take me to Abercrombie, Marsali,” Duncan said, sounding impatient.
Marsali didn’t move, dreading what was about to happen. She wasn’t responsible for what had happened to Abercrombie, whose fate no one in the castle either knew or cared to admit. But Duncan would probably find a way to blame her all the same.
He glanced around, studying her worried face.
“Dear God.” He took an involuntary step toward her. “The blasted fools have murdered him, haven’t they? They’ve actually murdered an appointee of the Crown.” Marsali opened her mouth but no sound came out, leaving her in condemning silence.
“Answer me, Marsali.” His face became a study in darkness, unyielding angl es, shadowed planes. The devil- boy in the portrait full grown, in the flesh. “When was the last time you saw Abercrombie?”
“Well.” Her voice finally emerged as a nervous croak. “Well, that would have been on Hogmanay.”
“January.” He frowned. “Six months ago. Was he alive?”
She stared down at the tips of her scuffed boots. “You have to understand that he was a horrible little man.”
He came forward, forcing Marsali to stumble back until she stood directly under the portrait of him with all its insulting graffiti. Yes, he was that boy. Urges of a definitely demoniac nature were rearing inside him.
“He was walking the edges of the battlements blindfolded,” she said in a small choked voice.
“What? Was the man trying to commit suicide?”
Marsali put her hand to her heart again. It gave her palpitations when his voice dropped to that ominous baritone. “I was delivering some herbs to Cook at the time, so I never really knew the details. However, from what I could gather, Mr. Abercrombie wasn’t exactly walking the battlements blindfolded of his own free will.”
“Where is he now?” Duncan asked, his face grim.
Marsali dared draw a breath. “To be honest, the last I heard he was hiding out in the chapel.”
“In a coffin?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
He caught hold of her hand, crushing the feeling from her fingers. “The chapel. God help me. Heads are going to roll if they’ve killed a government agent.”
C h apter
5
D uncan plucked loose a handful of the arrows embedded in the exterior of the chapel’s heavy oaken door and threw them to his feet. “It’s Duncan MacElgin, Abercrombie,” he shouted, kneeling at the keyhole. “If you’re in there, man, answer me.”
Silence. Then a shuffling so faint Duncan couldn’t tell if he was conversing with a man or a family of mice inside the chapel. “I’m a friend, Abercrombie. Open this damned door now!”
“Savages,” a muffled voice responded. “MacElgin is naught but another word for savages, and this castle the Devil’s playing field.”
Duncan glanced back at Marsali, catching her broad grin before she could wipe it off her face. “You find this amusing,
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