Page 96 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
If so, how? Perhaps he would share the secret of his patchy memory with her, and she could banish him from her mind as well. She wouldn’t remember his kisses or his tenderness.
No, if she recalled anything, it should be that he’d stolen her child.
Chapter 24
Had the grotto always smelled of the sea? She hadn’t noticed it before, probably because Macrath had been with her. Now it was ripe with the odor of fish and stone baked by the sun.
Seabirds circled and screamed overhead. Did they announce the incoming tide or simply fuss at her for invading this space?
Light spilled into the grotto from the window and the hole in the rock ceiling. Once she got to the stairs, however, she’d be in shadow. By the time she ascended the rough-hewn steps, there would only be darkness.
She had always tried to keep her dislike of the dark a secret. Mrs. Silverton, a governess, had been amused by her fear, extinguishing lamps when she could and locking Virginia in dark rooms. Her father had taken umbrage at the woman’s disrespect—of him, not his child—and dismissed her, which is how Miss Flom, a genuinely kind person, had come into her life.
But having learned her lesson, from that day to this Virginia rarely spoke of her dislike to anyone.
The more people knew about you, the more weapons they had.
She inspected her dress. The fabric of her bodice and the front of her skirt was shredded where she’d slid across the stone. The hem of her skirt was coated with sand. Her hair was coming loose. Her shoes were filled with pebbles. Moisture was running down her back and beneath her arms.
She was not, however, about to quit.
At the base of the stairs she couldn’t help but remember the last time she’d come this way. Macrath had been beside her. He’d kissed her tenderly on this step and this one.
“Stay with me,” he’d said.
What had she said? Something, anything, hoping he wouldn’t pressure her.
A year and a few months had changed everything.
Would she do the same now? Would she come to Scotland with thoughts of deception and duplicity? The answer came so quickly it didn’t even require thought. Yes, if it meant, at the end of the regret and shame, she’d have Elliot.
Did that mean she was a vile person?
She would have to answer the question later. For now, the shadows at the top of the steps taunted her.
Why hadn’t she thought to bring the lamp from the cottage? Or matches, if nothing else? She’d tried to plan so well, but had forgotten about the darkness.
Standing at the base of the steps, she stared up, her left hand gripping her skirt, her right flat against a stone. If she meant to do this, she must do it now. Otherwise she might as well curl into a little ball on the sand and let the ocean come and get her.
The flagstone floor was uneven, canting toward the left, then the right. She pushed away the thought of spiders and pressed one hand against the wall for balance.
Her stomach was in knots at the first step and she was nauseous by the second. She heard a buzzing sound in her ears by the third, and stopped at the fourth, taking a deep breath. There was nothing there. Mrs. Silverton was long gone from her life, and there would be no cackling laughter or cruel words.
Elliot was at the top of the steps. So was Macrath. She wanted to hold her child and talk to Macrath. She couldn’t do either if she gave into fear.
Perhaps it would not be amiss to say a prayer. Or, if it would be unwise to call the Almighty’s attention to her, perhaps she could recite the Psalms, which she’d been required to memorize. No, that would only summon Mrs. Silverton from the mist of her past.
If she thought of anyone, let it be Macrath.
He had bought this house and stamped his personality on it. She couldn’t imagine Drumvagen belonging to anyone but Macrath.
There, she was nearly at the top and hardly trembling at all. The darkness was like a fog, however, enshrouding everything. The higher she advanced, the more it encompassed her, until she was certain she wouldn’t be able to see the door to the library, let alone be able to figure out how to open it.
Providence, luck, or the hand of a merciful God, who pitied her not for her sins but for her stupidity, led her to a latch. She gripped it tightly with her right hand and pulled down on it.
Nothing happened.
She turned the latch in the opposite direction. Again, nothing happened, not even a protest of hinges.
