Maura could not remember a time when she hadn’t known of the havoc wrought when the Circle was stolen. One of her forebears was known to cover his ears and run for the earthen cellar when storms battered the headland. Their castle towered on the tip of the peninsula, the once fertile valleys below. It was said he believed the castle would fall into the seas, as the kitchens of Dunluce Castle had in the year 1639.
Castle McDonough remained. Outside McDonough land, the rolling hills beyond still flourished, while the lands of the McDonough began to wither and die. Little by little, year by year.
An awful foreboding seized hold of her, flooded her entire body like a shroud from which there was no escape. It was as if she knew the outcome of this night…even before it happened.
No, she told herself. No!
With shaking hands she removed his boots, then pulled up the coverlet. He moaned and thrust it aside.
“It calls to me. The Circle calls to me. It cries out to come home. It cries out that I have failed to bring it home—failed as our ancestors have failed.” Something strange passed over her father’s eyes. “I can hear it,” he whispered, his tone almost haunted. “This is my punishment, Maura. This is my judgment for failing to seek the Circle, to claim it and guard it as we were charged. Randall O’Donnell spent the remainder of his days seeking the Black Scotsman, to reclaim the Circle and return it to the church where it belongs, that our family and lands would once again be blessed!”
Maura went very still inside.
“To no avail,” she reminded him quietly. Randall never succeeded, nor did any of his sons. One by one the Clan McDonough abandoned their quest. It was rumored the Black Scotsman was a nobleman. Whoever he was, his identity was destined to forever remain secret, the Circle forever lost.
Her father railed, “I should have tried. Why did I not? I should have taken to the sea. To Scotland!”
Maura smoothed his brow. “Too many years have passed, Papa. Too many to—”
She broke off as he tried to rise and failed. A spasm racked his body. “You see, Maura? Death will take me. Death will take me this day.”
Her heart wrenched. “Do not say such things,” she pleaded, choking back her fear—her tears. “You will not die, Papa.”
By the time the door was flung open and Murdoch arrived with the physician, Dr. Mulligan, her father alternately burned with fever, then shivered as if he’d been plunged into the icy waters of the sea.
Maura leaped to her feet. “Help him,” she pleaded. “Help him please!”
Dr. Mulligan peered at her over his spectacles. “Let us see what can be done,” he said gently. He motioned her outside, along with Murdoch and Jen.
Tensely, they waited. When Dr. Mulligan finally emerged, Maura stepped forward.
“What is wrong with him?” she asked. “What ails him? Tell me you can save him!”
The good doctor’s manner was one of resignation. It was unmistakable. He removed his spectacles, blew on them and rubbed them with his handkerchief, as if searching his mind for the right words. He settled them on his nose again before he cleared his throat.
“My lady,” he said, “I have examined the earl to the best of my ability. I wish I could help him. I truly do. But I fear there is nothing I can do, for I do not know what illness plagues him. All I know is that he is sick.” There was a long drawn-out pause before he gently added, “Deathly sick, I fear.”
Jen let out a wail.
Maura braced herself inwardly. “How long?” she asked evenly.
He hesitated.
She pressed on. “How long, if you please?”
“I cannot say.”
No, Maura thought. He would not say. But there was pity in his eyes. Even he knew.
Superstition, some might have called it. Nonsense. But deep in her soul she knew it was the curse. The curse that had plagued the McDonough since the night the Black Scotsman—the scoundrel pirate who hid his real identity from both Scots and Irish—had sailed away into the night with the Circle of Light in his possession. They all knew.
Before the day was out, the earl of McDonough would be dead.
She inclined her head. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Murdoch, will you please escort the doctor to the door and see to his payment?”
Maura let herself back into the bedroom. Her insides twisted in sick dread. A sharp, tearing pain split her heart in two. Her father lay weakly against the pillows. She was stung by the change in him, in but the short time she had been outside in the hall. His cheeks were sunken, the bones of his face taut, his skin almost papery thin. With a finger he beckoned her near.
“He comes, Maura. He comes again.”
