Isobel’s gaze went to the tiny bed, her eyes nearly popping when she saw that the blond doll had vanished.
“But why?”
“Catriona was his mother. I thought the doll was some kind of warning, a spirit trying to tell me Catriona’s ghost meant me ill. But it’s not at all what I’d thought. He must be playing, putting his mother where he thinks she belongs. Nicholas said he never played with the dollhouse because she and one of her lovers were always working on it. Perhaps it draws him now because it reminds him of her.”
Isobel let out a breath. “Well, I’ve seen a great deal of her in this house. Many vile things are associated with it, but I don’t see you, Gilly. Or Lord Kincreag, or anyone else alive now.”
Gillian peered up at her sister quizzically. “Why would you be looking for Nicholas?”
Isobel’s eyes slid to the side, and her lips parted hesitantly. “I . . . I . . .”
“You still think it was him, don’t you?” Gillian stood abruptly, clutching her bad arm with her good to protect it. Her hand tightened to a fist. “He did not push me. Why won’t you believe that?”
Isobel wouldn’t look at her. “I just think you’d be safer at Lochlaire. For now.”
“He loves me, Isobel.”
Her sister’s sage eyes finally turned to gaze up at her. “But he would lock you up for what you are. You are a witch. If he doesn’t love that, he doesn’t love you.”
Gillian sank back to the ground beside her sister, heranger deflated by Isobel’s honest words. She wanted to discount them, to argue that he didn’t believe in such things and so that wasn’t the same thing as not loving her. But then, if he didn’t believe in her, how could he love her?
The questioning of the servants and men-at-arms proved futile. No one knew anything. Evan was in agreement with Nicholas now that the attempts on Gillian’s life were related, but currently their investigation was at a standstill. All he could do was guard her diligently and wait for the next attack. To that end he spent as much time with his wife as possible. When it wasn’t possible, Evan was with her. In addition to Nicholas’s precautions, Philip and his clansmen were a constant presence, hovering around the edges of Gillian and her sisters.
Nicholas knew they were up to something. Gillian’s attitude had grown chill toward him since his threat to lock her up. He didn’t regret the threat, only the necessity of it. She could be angry with him as long as she wanted. At least she was alive. Every time he looked at her, his heart relived the nightmare of losing her all over again. He’d rather her stare icicles at him than not have her at all.
He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His thoughts were often disquieting of late, distracting him from other matters. He set his documents aside and poured himself some whisky. Before he could take a drink, however, he was interrupted by a knock on his door.
“Aye?”
Evan stepped in. His gaze went to the cup in Nicholas’s hand, and he hesitated.
“What is it?” Nicholas set the cup aside.
“It’s Lady Kincreag, my lord. I think you’d better come with me.”
When the knight’s steps led to the cliff path, rage began to simmer in Nicholas’s veins. His hands clenched into fists. He would throttle her for coming back here. And then he would throttle her sisters and Sir Philip for allowing her to. Dusk had fallen and a light fog swirled, obscuring the objects around them but not hiding them. He saw them on the path ahead, rising out of the fog. Three cloaked women holding hands, forming a circle. Three slender candles intersected their joined hands. They chanted, their voices low, thrumming through him. Sir Philip and his men stood around them, allowing this dangerous absurdity to take place.
The wind picked up, shrieking around them like a lost soul. Nicholas pushed past the men and grabbed Gillian’s wrist, breaking the circle. The candle fell to the path and extinguished. She blinked up at him, dazed, as if she’d been in a trance.
He didn’t say a word to her. Fury throbbed behind his eyes, nearly blinding him. He was beyond words. He dragged her down the path. She stumbled along after him. In the garden she dug in her heels.
“Stop, Nicholas! You’ve ruined it. Now we have to start over.”
He picked her up around the waist and carried her.
“Nicholas!” She pushed at his arm with her good hand but quickly went limp. He smiled grimly, pleased she understood there was no use in fighting this. He took her back to his privy chambers and shut the door; then he locked it to keep her meddling family out.
He set her on her feet. Red blotched her skin from hairline to chest. “How could you?” she hissed.
Now that he had her alone and safe, some of his blind fury dissipated, and the furious beating of his heart slowed. “I told you what would happen.”
“So I’m your prisoner now?” She rushed for the door, but he caught her shoulders.
He gave her a small shake. “I’m trying to keep you safe, with absolutely no help from you or your family.”
“Theyarehelping me.”
“By taking you back out to the cliff where you nearly died?” He released her abruptly and backed away, the need to shake sense into her so great that he feared he would further injure her arm.
