Relief flooded his eyes. Then all at once he tipped his head to the side. “Listen,” he whispered.
A sound echoed eerily through the night.
The howl of a wolf.
And there were no wolves left in Ireland.
An odd shiver filled her heart. It was a sign, she realized. A sign that transcended belief and reason and explanation. A sign of all that had been…
And everything to come.
He squeezed her fingers. “All will be well, my darling Maura. All will be as it should be.” A faint smile graced his lips. Her promise had given him peace, she decided vaguely.
The thought came the instant his grip slackened. The very instant she was aware of life draining from his body.
Downstairs the clock tolled midnight.
Now she knew what was different about this day, for it came to her then. Her father, the earl of McDonough, chief of the Clan McDonough, had died on the very day the Black Scotsman had stolen the Circle.
Two hundred years earlier.
Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Maura kissed his brow. “I will not forsake my promise, Papa,” she whispered. “I will not.”
She rose to her feet, a determined resolve beating in her blood, her very heart.
She would honor her promise to him. She would bring the Circle home to their lands.
She would not fail him.
Chapter Two
Go to him, Maura. Seek him out.
And she had. She could scarcely believe it. She was here. In the home of Lord Ellis Preston, Baron of Killane. In a lovely, damask-papered room, with a round-cheeked maid named Eileen assisting her as she readied herself to attend the masquerade given in honor of the Black Scots—Good heavens. She must stop thinking of him that way. He had a name, a title…She fought to remember it, for already she’d grown accustomed to thinking of him as the Black Scotsman.
Alec. Yes, there it was. Alec McBride, Duke of Gleneden.
Besides, as she and Murdoch had discovered, the Black Scotsman was a name given him by the debutantes in England, who apparently considered him quite the catch.
A faint bitterness filled her. Less than a fortnight had passed since her father’s death. Less than a fortnight before the Black Scotsman departed Ireland. Her father was scarcely in the ground after the wake before a straggling line of tenantsgathered before the stone steps of the castle. There had been no time to waste, to grieve or to mourn.
She had bid good-bye to each of them. She cautioned Daniel the Swift that he must keep his hands from the neighbor’s sheep and gave a tug to Patrick the Woolly’s beard. He grinned in return.
When it came to Jen, Maura had hugged the housekeeper very hard. Releasing her, feeling as if her heart would break at any instant, she’d glanced toward the churchyard, high on the hill. She thought of her father then—his stanch pride—his love of his home and land.
Before she even thought about it, she’d reached for the small velvet pouch inside her purse and dumped the coins it held into the bottom of the bag. Her emotions ran rampant as she bent low and scooped a handful of dust and stones into the now empty pouch. The move was sudden, unexpected, and appeared to startle Murdoch, who stepped forward.
“Lady M—”
He stopped short. Rising to her full stature, Maura’s chin came up and she defiantly yanked the strings of the pouch closed. Her best pair of white gloves was now ruined. She gave not a whit. If she must leave her home and lands, by heaven, a piece of McDonough land would always be with her. Murdoch’s expression changed from puzzlement to something else as he helped her into the carriage. Maura deliberately glanced away. When she turned back, she could have cried.
She saw Murdoch kiss his wife, and Jen cling to him a moment longer, as long as she could. She had looked on witha sensation so painfully acute she could have cried out. Then Murdoch stepped into the carriage and sat down across from her, his hands settled on his knees. Maura had almost hated herself for what she was doing—in all the days of her life, Murdoch and Jen had never spent a night apart.
She’d almost been relieved when the driver gave a crack of the whip. She waved to the assemblage. Patrick swept off his hat and offered a swaggering bow. Toothless Nan gave her a wink. Her pulse speeding up, she in turn gave Nan a tiny little nod.
And then they’d set off, en route to the Baron of Killane’s estate.
Almost from the night her father died, Maura’s mind had been working furiously. Somehow she had to get to Scotland—to the Duke of Gleneden’s estate. She weighed several possibilities. What if she were to pass herself off as a distant relation? Too risky, she decided, for several reasons. He might not believe her. Plus she had no way of making certain she could manage an invitation. Even if she did, it would likely be for only several days, at best, and she had no idea how long it might take to find the Circle.
