Chapter 5

The marriage between Brian Lewis and Davina Henderson, the daughter of the Laird's steward, James Henderson, had been arranged for the following month, but now, instead of a wedding dress, Davina was wearing an outfit of deepest black. She was not devastated, but she was sad, because she had genuinely liked her betrothed, and had been looking forward to being his wife. When she first heard the news of his death she could not quite take it in, and it was not until she saw his still, pale body lying in the coffin that she finally managed to weep for him.

"He looks so peaceful," she said to her father, just before the funeral service. "I hope they caught the man who killed him." She reached out and touched Brian's cheek then immediately recoiled. The skin was unnaturally cold and white, his lips were blue, and suddenly she could not bear to look at him any more. She turned and fled.

It was five days after the funeral, and Ross Lewis was exhausted. Not only had he lost his only son, but he was buried in the work of the estate, which kept him busy from dawn till past dusk. Even with the help of his excellent estate manager, James Henderson, there was still a mountain of work to be done.

However, he was grateful for the letters, and the endless problems with tenants, since it kept his mind busy, and was all that was keeping him from throwing himself off the highest point of the turrets.

Brian had been his whole life. When his physician had diagnosed the problem with his heart, he knew he would die in peace because his estate would pass into the safe hands of his son and heir. Now, because of a stray arrow fired by an incompetent huntsman, the life of his handsome, vibrant only son had been snuffed out just as he had been about to enter the next stage of his life.

The marriage to Davina had been proposed by James, and it was an inspired idea. Everyone would be happy, since Davina would have a husband, Brian a wife and both of them a fine home to live in. As well as that, if anything happened to Brian, James Henderson would be a family member, and would be able to help the young Laird to run the estate. It would all have worked out so neatly, but Brian's death had snuffed out his every hope for the future, and now all Ross Lewis wanted to do was die.

It was dark, and he had just finished his last piece of correspondence of the day when James Henderson walked into his office. He was a stocky dark man of medium height and a pleasant, if not handsome face.

"How are you, Ross?" he asked, his voice sympathetic. He too had suffered a loss of a kind, since he had had great hopes for his daughter's future. If only the marriage had been a month earlier, or Brian's death a month later! He gritted his teeth in frustration as he poured both of them a generous splash of whisky. Life was just not fair.

Ross accepted the glass from James. His face suddenly looked and felt ten years older. Wrinkles that had not been there a week before were now apparent on his skin, and he seemed unable to smile. On the odd occasion when he had done so, it had felt artificial, as though his skin was stretching in an uncomfortable, unfamiliar way.

He sighed and put his hands over his face. "I am as well as I can be under the circumstances, James," he answered, before picking up his glass and draining it in one draught. "My physician says that my heart will not last much longer, and I am glad. All I want is for my life to be over. At least then I can be in heaven beside my darling wife and my beloved son."

"Don't say that!" James said angrily. "You are not a defeatist, Ross. You will fight your way through this. I know you well, and I have never seen you beaten by anything." At once, he realized he had said the wrong thing.

Ross frowned angrily and his storm-grey eyes bored into James's. "I hardly think this counts as ‘anything', James," he growled. "Have you ever lost a child?"

James looked suitably ashamed, and cast his gaze onto his clasped hands, which were resting on the desk. "No, Ross, I have not," he answered. "Forgive me - that was very thoughtless of me." He growled inwardly. If he was not careful he would lose the Laird's favor altogether, and that was definitely not in his plan. He had worked too hard to get where he was, and now he was within touching distance of his goal he would let nothing stop him.

"Indeed it was," Ross agreed. He brushed his white hair back from his brow in a gesture of agitation as he poured himself another whisky. He had not eaten a full hot meal since Brian's death; he simply could not stomach anything, and he could feel the effects of the alcohol as it seared its way down his throat and into his gut. In a few more minutes he would be blissfully drunk and then he would be able to go to sleep. He knew he would suffer for it in the morning, but he would worry about that when the time came.

James watched him carefully. He knew he should warn Ross Lewis about the dangers of becoming addicted to the solace of whisky, but he knew what to expect if he did so. Ross would likely roar at him to mind his own business and have a guard escort him out in a distinctly ungentle fashion. He would have to proceed very carefully now; he could not afford another slip-up.

"I have been thinking," the Laird said thoughtfully, frowning. "As I have no legitimate son to succeed me, I would like to meet my illegitimate one. He is still my son, even though he and Brian had different mothers. Now that Brian is gone I would rather see the estate going to one of my blood relatives, and who better than my own son?"

James's eyes widened in shock, and he turned away from the Laird to look out of the window so that the Laird could not see the expression on his face. "I thought you despised him," he said evenly. "Have you changed your mind?" He turned back to the Laird before pouring himself more whisky, his expression now one of polite enquiry. He needed another drink to settle his temper, perhaps this strong spirit was not such a bad idea after all!

"No, but perhaps it would not be a bad idea to get to know the boy." The Laird stood up and began to pace the room. "Perhaps I should not have cast him off so quickly." The Laird's face was sad and regretful, and it was an expression that James had never seen before.

James was fuming inside. Ross had never exactly put it into words, but there had always been an understanding between them that he should take over the Lairdship in a situation like this. Now this bastard son of his would get his hands on the estate - and it was very unlikely that he had any experience or knowledge to undertake such a massive task.

It would likely take months of training, and at the end of all that he might still be a complete failure. Moreover, he did not deserve it and he would likely run it into the ground. "But he has no training," he protested. "He has no idea what to do with a place the size of this one."

The Laird turned on his advisor, glaring at him. "Then it is your job to educate him!" he said furiously. He had always thought of his steward as a friend, but now he was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake. James had been working for Ross for over twenty years and they had never had any serious disagreements, yet now he saw something else.

With the keenness of hindsight Ross realized that James had always intended to inveigle him into marrying his son with his daughter instead of giving Brian the freedom to make his own choice. He had been so subtle about it, but it was abundantly clear now. He thought about Davina - she had seemed to be a fine young woman, but perhaps that too had all been a fa?ade.

Then he shook his head to clear it. He was probably imagining things, but the seed had been planted, and he could not get it out of his mind.

Cameron was working on his land when an unfamiliar horse and rider came cantering onto his land. It was a sunny day, and the horseman was silhouetted against the light, so Cameron had to screw his eyes up and shade them with his hands in order to see the man properly.

The steward dismounted from his horse and walked over to the edge of the field. "Cameron Dalziel?" he called loudly.

Cameron looked at him suspiciously, but walked over to greet the man. "I am he," he replied. "An' you are?"

"James Henderson," the man replied. "Steward and advisor to your father -"

"I have nae father." Cameron almost spat out the words, but James Henderson barely paused.

"Your father would like to speak to you about a matter of great importance," he said, frowning. "He demands your presence."

Cameron threw back his head and laughed heartily. When tears of mirth threatened to overflow, he wiped his eyes and looked at the steward again, but his expression had changed from a smile into a glare. "Demands?" he asked furiously. "Demands? He orders me tae go an' see him when he has scorned an' ignored me a' my life?" By this time, his deep voice was high with indignation.

The steward nodded impassively. "As soon as possible."

Cameron stepped up to the man so that their noses were no more than six inches apart. Even if he had no intention of committing violence on someone, he found that his height and heavy build was enough to intimidate them.

James Henderson took a step backwards, swallowing nervously, but Cameron stepped forward to maintain the narrow distance between them. His eyes were blazing with fury as he poked the steward in the chest, and his voice was a growl as he said, "I have nothin' to say to my so-called ‘father.' He has never been a father tae me an' I want nothin' to dae wi' him."

"Your brother is dead." Henderson's voice was flat. "And your father's heart is giving out. He has not much longer to live."

"I have a brother?" Cameron pretended to be surprised, then he glowered fiercely at Cameron. "Aye, I know he is dead, but it makes nae difference to me. I never knew him, I never wanted to, an' I think he felt the same about me. As for my father, if he is dyin', a' I can say is good riddance to bad rubbish!" He turned away. "Tell the Laird I have nothin' to say to him, an' I would prefer that he leaves me alone, as he has for the rest of my life up till now."

"He wants to leave you his estate," James said baldly. ‘He will change his tune now,' he thought, but he was wrong.

Cameron turned to face the man once again. "I do not want his estate!" he replied, enunciating each word clearly as if he was talking to a child. "Tell him he can put his estate in a very dark place - you know the place I mean, do ye no'? I want nothin' from him!"

The shouting match might have ended in a fist fight at that moment had Ava not come up to them, holding a basket of Cameron's cleaned and mended clothes. She looked from one to the other of the two men, puzzled. She had heard the altercation from a hundred yards away, and hurried up to see what the fight was about before it came to blows.

Cameron's voice had a threat in it as he heard the disdainful note in James's. "Now, Henderson, I would like it very much if ye would leave an' no' come back again."

She saw Cameron standing in front of the shorter man, their faces almost touching. Cameron's expression was thunderous as he turned away, then he swung back again as the smaller man began to speak.

As Ava approached them, they both turned to look at her. Henderson's gaze swept over her from head to foot in a way that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable, then he turned back to Cameron. "Who is this?" he asked.

"A very good friend o' mine," Cameron answered, "Ava Struthers."

James Henderson saw Cameron's big hands clenching into fists that looked like clubs. "You have not heard the last of this." His voice was threatening as he mounted his horse, but at that moment Ava stepped forward.

"Please wait," she said, holding a hand up. "I heard what you said, an' I would like to speak to Cameron, please."

"Maybe you can talk some sense into him." Henderson was derisive, but his expression had changed to one of frank appreciation as he looked at the young woman before him. "I will wait."

Ava bristled at the look on his face, but said nothing as she took Cameron's arm and they moved away to a safe distance. "What does he want?" she whispered.

"He wants me tae see the Laird," Cameron growled, his brows drawn down and shadowing his bright eyes. "He says the Laird wants tae give me the estate, but I have told him what he can do wi' it! I do not want it."