The Presence Read online

  He thanked Rowenna when she opened the door to admit him to Darrow’s work area, and she gave him an other wave and smile as she closed the door behind her.

  The M.E. employed two assistants at all times, but most often they were temporary, eager to work their way to larger facilities or higher positions in other small villages. Neither of them seemed to be about that afternoon. Bruce realized that this must be something of a pleasant change for the man. Darrow had a very different case of a discovered “body” on his hands.

  Darrow was wearing a headlight and huge glasses, studying the remains that were stretched out in proper form on the autopsy table before him. He looked up, seeing that Bruce had arrived, and his eyes seemed enormous behind the glasses. In his lab coat and paraphernalia, he gave the appearance of a mad scientist.

  “Bruce!” he said with pleasure. “You’re here?”

  “How could I resist such an invitation?” Bruce said.

  Darrow nodded and said, “Well, my good lad, if you’ve ever loved me before, yer about to adore me now.”

  “Oh?”

  He beckoned Bruce closer.

  It was a strange feeling to look down at the remains. On the one side, all that time had rendered had taken away something of the humanity that once belonged to the woman. The empty eye sockets were eerie, as were the remaining tufts of hair and mummified flesh. Some bones were not actually attached, yet they had been laid out in anatomical order. Blackened pieces of fabric gave an odd cast to what she must have worn during her last moments of life. The skull itself was devoid of flesh in places, while in others, that fragile bit of her one-time life remained.

  Time could play good tricks with the mind, as well. He couldn’t feel what he had experienced when he found the body of the murdered girl in Tillingham, be cause her life had been far more recent, far more real. And yet it occurred to him that this was one of his ancestors, and that if it hadn’t been for her life, he would not have had his own.

  “She’s truly an exquisite find!” Darrow said, studying the upper region of the remains again.

  Bruce cleared his throat slightly. Darrow looked at him and then seemed to realize the association. “Sorry, dear boy. I keep forgetting…well, centuries have gone by, you know.”

  “Aye, of course,” Bruce said.

  “It’s the state of preservation,” Darrow said. “Well, we’ve some naked bone, but I haven’t actually cut into her, taken samples. We do have experts on the way.”

  “Daniel, what is it, then?” Bruce said, afraid that the doctor was getting so involved in his discovery again that he was going to forget to explain.

  “There!” Darrow said. He focused the lights of his headgear on the ligature that remained around the neck.

  There? Bruce stared, but he saw only the muddied and blackened ligature, nothing else.

  “I’m sorry, Daniel. What are you showing me?”

  Daniel let out an exclamation of surprise. “Now, I’m not giving it to you that easy, boy! You were a detective once.”

  Bruce looked up at him, arching a brow, and then back to the remains.

  And then he saw it.

  It was impossible to decipher the weave of the cloth tied around the neck; the rich mud had seen to that. But it had once been emblazoned with a raised crest, embroidered into the fabric. And it wasn’t the MacNiall crest.

  Though it took a moment’s study, the encrusting mud had actually made the crest and surrounding letters more visible beneath the light. He couldn’t guarantee it, and wouldn’t bet on it, but it seemed that elaborate letters, GD, sat above a peregrine falcon atop a sword. Bruce instantly felt a thrill of excitement himself.

  Any schoolchild who had grown up anywhere near the village was aware that the GD with the peregrine on the sword had been the battle emblem chosen by the traitor, Davis, who had brought down the great MacNiall.

  “So…!” Bruce said.

  “Aye, quite so!” Daniel said cheerfully. “Looks as if Grayson Davis did in the Lady MacNiall, and not her laird husband. Well, certainly, there could be those arguing that Bruce did it with Grayson’s colors, but what would Bruce have been doing with such a garment from his enemy? Nae, now, I’m no historian, but it seems as if our local hero has been vindicated!”

  Bruce looked up, smiling. “Well, we’ll see what your experts have to say, Daniel.” Daniel nodded.

  “You’re definitely right about one thing,” Bruce told him.

  “Eh?”

  “Well, I’ve always loved you, Daniel, old boy. But I do adore you now.”

  “Ach, now, Ma!” the man said, stepping forward to take the old woman’s arm. “Now I know y’see the old fellow about now and then,” he said, tenderly bringing her to him. “But y’ll be scaring away these fine folks!” He rolled his eyes at the group around him.

  “They don’t be seein’ it, none be seein’ it!” the old woman said.

  She was still staring at Toni, her watery, faded blue eyes seeming to see things that no one else could.

  “Y’must take care!” she whispered feverishly.

  Toni nodded, her throat tight, dismayed by the chills that iced her limbs and bloodstream. The old woman was senile, she tried to tell herself. A victim of superstition, of a way of life.

  Thayer’s arm came around her shoulder. Even Lizzie and Trish, whom she barely knew, seemed to be standing closer to give her assurance against the strange onslaught.

  “Ma, come away, now, the flowers be at Da’s feet,” the younger woman said, flashing them an apologetic smile. “I’ll get y’some o’ the fine scones down the street. We’ll have a wee spot o’ tea, eh?” With a last look of apology, she gently became the escort, taking the old woman’s arm. She started from the cemetery, looking over her shoulder to smile at the group, that simple look explaining all.

  The old woman was daft but theirs, and they loved her.

  “Enjoy your tea!” Toni said, feeling the chill the old woman’s words had given her fade, and anxious to say something just to let her daughter or daughter-in-law know that it was lovely the way they guarded and cared for the woman.

  The man lingered a moment, shaking his head. “Finan MacHenry,” he told them. “And I do apologize, miss. Ma can give one the willies, sure enough. But take no note, please. I am so sorry. The townsfolk here, well, we’ve done a bit o’ watching—no one here could reckon with the fact that Bruce had rented the place!—but y’re doin’ us all a service here, and we’re pleased.” He grimaced ruefully. “I own a pub, and yer tour folks have spent a good deal there, just in the few nights’ time. Please don’t be listenin’ to me ma. She’s always thought she saw Bruce MacNiall—not our current laird, but the old Cavalier—in the forest. And she’s a wee bit disappointed, being of the thought that he was innocent. Now, with the bones found and all…”

  “Thank you, Mr. MacHenry,” Toni said, extending her hand. “You and your wife and your mother seem very dear, and we’re grateful that you’ve taken the time to tell us that you’re glad we’re here.”

  He inclined his head. “My pleasure. And again, I’m so sorry about Ma givin’ ye that kind o’ fright. She’s—” he didn’t say off the wall, daft or crazy as a loon. “Ma’s just old, and she’s really dear. I imagine she was just thinkin’ y’re a fine young woman and worryin’. Well, I’ll let you folks get back to yer day. I’ll be havin’ me tea and scones then,” he said. “Good day!”

  “Good day,” they called in unison as he departed.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Thayer murmured. “Toni, you all right? It was strange as bloody hell, the way that she looked at you!”

  “She’s just old,” Toni murmured, repeating what Finan MacHenry had said.

  “Aye, and a bit daft. But it was unnerving, to say the least!” Trish offered.

  “Giving you the evil eye, or whatever!” Lizzie said, and shivered. “I’m glad she didn’t look that way at me! Oh, I am sorry.”

  “It’s all right, really,” Toni said. “A
ctually, it was quite touching, to see the way that they take care of her.”

  “Well, that’s the Scottish for you,” Lizzie said. “A bit of the superstitious and whimsical, and then the good hard logic that we’re famed for, as well. Let’s be putting it behind us. Honestly, we’d certainly love to be part of a tour, though, even if we’re not American, and can’t quite make it on a bus from elsewhere!”

  “Tomorrow night. Come a bit early if you like,” Thayer said.

  “I’m not the management end of things,” Toni said, “but I’m sure we can arrange something special for you both.”

  “We’ve got to catch up with ‘management’ soon,” Thayer said. “Why don’t we head to the pub now. We’ll buy you lovely ladies a drink, and we can talk about tomorrow?”

  Lizzie looked at Trish, and Trish looked back. They must have come to a silent agreement because they both looked at Thayer. “Why, that would be lovely.”

  “I think I’ll let the three of you go on,” Toni said. “I was going to wander around here a bit more, if you’ll allow me to beg out.”

  Thayer looked at her with a slight frown, as if he were afraid the ladies would beg out also if she didn’t come with them.

  “I’ll be right along, of course, and our other friends will be arriving bit by bit,” Toni added quickly.

  Trish shivered. “You want to stay in an old cemetery alone, after that?”

  “I like these places,” Toni told her.

  “All right, then,” Thayer said, anxious to move on with the women. But he had come with her, so he hesitated one last time. “You’re sure? You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Absolutely. We are just right off the street. If a hand shoots out of a grave, or the like, I’ll be out of here faster than a speeding bullet.”

  The three laughed.

  “Shall we order you anything?” Lizzie asked.

  “No, thanks. I’m sure service is quick enough,” Toni said.

  “Well, then…shall we go?” Thayer asked.

  “Oh, aye, then,” Lizzie said. “See you in a bit, dear!”

  When they were gone, Toni felt a shudder seize hold of her again. So much for being right off a main road. She couldn’t even see anyone on the streets, and the day was darkening early. This was insane. She should catch up with Thayer and the girls, and hurry down to the pub where the beer was warm, but company and hospitality warmer still. After all, here she was in a cemetery, filled with the long dead, and she already thought that a ghost was leading her around a castle.

  Then she gave herself a shake. She was fine. She’d wanted to be alone, and she was not going to be afraid. This was the type of place she had always loved, the very old combining with the present, a piece of living history, since the kirk offered Sunday services now just as it had for centuries. So she turned back to look through the graveyard, absolutely determined to put the old woman’s strange actions and words behind her.

  One monument in particular had caught her eye earlier. Usually she was drawn to the very old, but this one was new, and more ornate—and functional—than most. At the base, it created an arched, marble seat that faced a garden well tended by someone. At the top was a magnificently carved, flying angel. When Toni came closer, she marveled at the detail in the sculpture. The angel’s face looked down in sadness. Below it, etched in large letters, were the words Margaret Marie Mac Mannon, beloved daughter of Rose and Magnus, departed this for a better world far too soon, yet the memory of her goodness remains.

  She had died at the tender age of twenty-three, just a bit more than ten years ago, Toni discovered, reading the smaller print. That she had been a teacher and a lover of history, music, dance and mankind was also immortalized.

  As she sat and continued to read, Toni was surprised to find, in very small print, that the kirk thanked Laird Bruce MacNiall for the garden and memorial, to be kept in perpetuity.

  “So you like old kirks and cemeteries, as well as castles!”

  Spinning around, Toni was startled to see none other than Bruce MacNiall coming toward her.

  He was wearing a leisure suit that day, and had doffed the jacket, which he carried casually under his arm. He was wearing sunglasses, as well, so his eyes were unfathomable, and his ebony hair was slicked back. He could have just walked off a page of GQ, rather than out of a crumbling stone castle steeped in history and lore.

  “Bruce,” she murmured, feeling as if she had been caught looking into someone’s private diary. “Hi. Did…did you know I was here?”

  He shook his head, joining her on the bench. “Actually, I didn’t. But I’m glad to see you.”

  She smiled, still feeling a little shy. Then she decided simply to ask, “Who was Margaret?”

  He didn’t seem disturbed by the question. He simply looked up at the angel, as if he could see something that went far beyond it, then shrugged slightly. “The great love of my youth,” he said softly. He looked at Toni, though she could still see nothing of his eyes beneath the dark shades. “She was a local girl with a great love for people, life…children. We were engaged, but never married.”

  “What happened to her?” Toni asked, afraid that she was prying too deeply now, and was about to hear a horrible story.

  “Leukemia,” he said. “I never knew anyone with a greater love for the simplest things in life. The sky, the hills, grass…trees. Children. She adored children. She wanted a dozen, and always said it would be fine because we were very wee in numbers here, and the world needed more Scots.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Toni said. “It sounds as if she was really a lovely person.”

  He nodded and looked away. She thought that he had decided to say no more, but then he looked at her again. “That’s why I rather let the castle go, I’m afraid. She loved it. She wanted to bring life back to it. She had a way of just making you glad that you were alive and breathing and…well, it seemed such an irony that her own life should prove to be so fragile.”

  “I am so sorry,” Toni repeated.

  “Thanks. She’s been gone a very long time now. No excuse for me, really, to have let things go the way that I did.” His lips curled into a dry smile. “Did you visit the rest of the family?” he asked her politely.

  “I saw a few MacNialls in the old kirk, yes.”

  “And you’re here alone?”

  “We’re all meeting at the pub at the base of the hill at four,” she told him. “Ryan and Gina took copies of the documents to Jonathan. David and Kevin are shopping. And Thayer and I just met two lovely lasses in the cemetery, so the three of them headed on to the pub al ready.”

  “Good. I’m glad there’s a bit of excitement for your cousin,” he said. And he smiled broadly at her. “I’ve had a bit of my own today.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve been at the M.E.’s,” he told her. “And we think we’ve made a discovery that will vindicate my ancestor.”

  “Really?” Toni said.

  He nodded. “Looks like she was strangled with a scarf that belonged to his archenemy, a man named Grayson Davis. The fellow hailed from around here, but he wasn’t the kind of man to fight for a losing side for long. It wasn’t really such a terrible thing for men to be on opposite sides—throughout our history, Scots have fought Scots almost as much as they’ve fought the English. The thing with Grayson Davis was that he turned coat, and turned in many a man he had once called his friend. He was the one who brought down Bruce MacNiall, catching up with him in the forest and giving him a mock trial then and there. And, well, you know the rest.”

  Toni looked at him with surprise and murmured, “I wonder…”

  “You wonder what?”

  “Nothing!” she said quickly, shaking her head.

  He took her hand, his thumb massaging the palm with an absent tenderness that stole around her heart. “You’ve done the family a great service, you know, finding Annalise. I’ve been telling you this all along, you know, but…I really do owe you.”

  “I’m
delighted,” she said, a little afraid of being so close to him and not sure why. “We really need to tell all this to an old woman who was through here a while ago. Apparently, everyone in town knows that Annalise was found. This lady was very upset, certain that your ancestor was running around, going off to the cities to abduct other women and strangle them in the forest, as well.”

  He frowned sharply. “What?”

  She shook her head, startled to have gotten such an intense response from him.

  “It was nothing to take seriously,” she said quickly. “This old woman knew we were at the castle, and apparently, she’s deeply distraught that Annalise was found in the forest. She wanted to believe that your ancestor was a hero, not a wife killer. Apparently she believes that Bruce MacNiall still roams the land.”

  He let out an impatient and irritated sound. “Elwyn MacHenry!” he said.

  “Yes. She was with her son and daughter-in-law. They seemed like very nice people.”

  “They are, but Elwyn is more than ‘touched,’ as they call it here. She’s been raving about Bruce MacNiall roaming the countryside for years.” He looked at her with a trace of amusement. “However, he just used to ride in the moonlight. She never accused him before of going from town to town to strangle others, as he had supposedly strangled his wife.”

  “Elwyn will be happy, then, to learn the truth,” Toni said.

  He rose suddenly, drawing her up. “I love this place, but enough is enough. Let’s go join the living, eh?”

  The afternoon spanned into the evening. Bruce remained in an exceptionally good mood, and Thayer was riding high, as well, enjoying the company of Lizzie and Trish. Gina reported that Jonathan had been cordial, and he had told them it was good that they had given the original documents to Robert Chamberlain, since his resources were so great. In fact, they’d saved him the trouble of having to do it. And he was pleased to tell them that the locals were cheerful about the tours. The buses had stopped in the village both nights, and the tourists had bought all manner of T-shirts, stuffed draft horses, jams, jellies, jewelry, tartans, cashmere, ties, brooches, snow globes and miniatures of the castle.