“I don’t think you can leave this place,” Damaris whispered hopelessly.
“Yes, I can, if I bond with a living being. I can go where he goes.”
“Be careful, Alex,” Damaris cried.
“Sweetheart, nothing can happen tae me that hasn’t happened already.”
Tina wiped away her tears and reached for her bedgown. “Oh Ada, everything is such a tangled mess.” Tina threw back her long hair impatiently. “Only last night he told me he loved me and asked me to marry him. Now thanks to that twisted, sick Colin Douglas, everything is spoiled! I could kill him!”
“Calm down, love. The damage has been done, but once Ram is gone, we have all the time in the world to confront Colin and get possession of the painting. Lock this door after me. I’m going to go to the kitchens and get you some breakfast, and I think I’ll ask Mr. Burque to help us We should have the protection of a man when we challenge Colin.”
“That’s a splendid idea, Ada. Oh, that’s the desk I gave poor old Malcolm.”
“Yes, Jenna brought it to me last night. She said Malcolm made her promise she would give it back to you.”
Ada went to the kitchen, and Tina carefully locked the door behind her, then she went back to the antique desk. She opened the drawer and touched the carving that opened the secret compartment. There lay Malcolm’s history. How poignant it was to touch the pages he had written! He had been so obsessive about the history, it had filled the endless hours of his days and made them bearable for him. Somehow Tina felt absolutely compelled to read what he had committed to paper.
Tina’s brows drew together in puzzlement. She thought his history would deal with Douglas ancestors, perhaps starting with the first earl, but if he had written of the early times, those pages were not in the desk. In fact, there weren’t many pages at all, certainly fewer than a dozen, and Tina’s attention became riveted as she realized it told the story of what had happened sixteen years ago, the night Damaris had been poisoned
The spirit of Damaris stood at Tina’s shoulder so they could read the pages together The writing was lucid, organized, and far clearer than Malcolm had ever been when Tina had spoken with him. As she read the pages she realized that Malcolm had not been bedridden sixteen years ago when the tragedy occurred.
It was so unusual for the newlyweds to exchange angry words that I made myself scarce so they could argue in private. Before the afternoon was over however, their raised voices could not be ignored, and the reason for Lord Alexander’s fury was revealed. Colin had been painting a portrait of Lady Damaris, and when it was finished we all admired his great skill, but apparently Alex discovered that Colin had also sketched her naked. In a fit of jealousy, Alex accused her of faithlessness. Colin was nowhere about to answer the accusations, so Damaris had to face Lord Douglas’s temper, which was infamous.
I recall that the afternoon closed in quickly, and dark came early. Lady Damaris took wine and was immediately poisoned. Alexander forgot his jealousy immediately. She was in so much agony he was distraught. Even in those days I was called Mad Malcolm because I was somewhat reclusive and often got drunk, and marched to a different drummer than other men. Alex accused me of poisoning the wine and refused to let me help him with Lady Damaris.
She died so quickly, there was nothing I could have done in any case, but she died with the accusation of “Poisoner!” upon her lips, totally convinced that her husband had murdered her.
Alexander was like a madman. He waited for Colin’s return with a black heart, thinking he had seduced his beautiful wife who now lay dead. When Colin learned Damaris was dead, he went berserk. The two men drew their swords and flung terrible accusations at each other. Colin told Alex the poison had been meant for him, not Damaris. Colin thought he was heir to the title of Lord Douglas. Alex flung at his younger brother the secret he had kept for years: Colin was a bastard and the title of Lord Douglas would pass to his cousin Ramsay in the event of Alexander’s death. Alex and Colin were so intent upon killing each other, there was nothing I could do to prevent bloodshed. I took a jug of whisky and locked myself in my tower room. I had consumed most of it when I saw them out on the parapets.
Alexander was the superior swordsman, who slashed Colin so fiercely, I believed him doomed. I saw Colin wounded several times and knew he would be cut to ribbons. I must have passed out. The next day Lord Alexander’s body was discovered in the courtyard, and his wife lay poisoned in her bedchamber.
The Earl of Angus descended upon Castle Dangerous, as well as the Kennedys, thirsting for revenge. Somebody said Colin was off fighting in the king’s Highland campaign, and I feared I would be the prime suspect for murder. I locked myself away and drank. The naked painting of Lady Damaris was discovered, and it was concluded that Alexander had poisoned her in a jealous rage, then committed suicide by diving from the parapets.
Coward that I was, I was so relieved that I was not charged with the double murder, I kept my mouth shut. When Colin returned home a week later, crippled with his war wounds, I was the only one who knew that Alexander’s sword had maimed him for life. He kept me well supplied with whisky, and for more than a year I stayed drunk day and night. Later, whenever I tried to bring up the night of the tragedy, people nodded knowingly and called me Mad Malcolm.
I reasoned that things could have been worse. At least Colin did not inherit the title. Ramsay became Lord Douglas, and the role fit him like a glove. The chief of the clan, Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, was well pleased with Ramsay, who was born with the qualities necessary for leadership. So in the end, the evil one did not benefit from his crime. Colin carried his twisted body every day of his life as a reminder and was doubly punished because no woman would ever look at him.
I would probably have kept my lips sealed forever if it had not been for the arrival of another beautiful Lady Kennedy. I knew Colin lusted for her, and I knew he was evil enough to poison Ram so he could have Ram’s woman. I decided to break my long silence by committing it to paper. Since my legs went, I fear for my own life, but now I also fear for Ram and for the beautiful Kennedy lass who has been so kind to me.
Malcolm Douglas
“Dear God, it was Colin who killed Malcolm by poisoning the wine. I drank some by mistake.” Why, oh why hadn’t she discovered these pages before Ram left? Tina unlocked her chamber door and went down to the kitchens to tell Ada and Mr. Burque what she had just learned. Damaris did not want her to leave her room but was helpless to prevent her. All she could do was stay beside her.
Valentina found Ada and Mr. Burque leaving the kitchens. She quickly told them both what Malcolm had revealed. “Colin is a dangerous man—we cannot confront him unarmed,” she added
Mr. Burque agreed with her. He took down a sword from the stone wall of the hall. He was not a trained swordsman, but he was well muscled and agile, and he had all the courage necessary to protect Valentina. He sent Ada to the knights’ quarters for any men-at-arms Ram Douglas had left behind. Without hesitation, he moved toward the castle stairs. At that moment they saw Colin Douglas poised at the top of the staircase. The looks on their faces immediately alerted him to danger.
“I didn’t mean tae poison Damaris. I loved her!” Colin cried.
Tina looked up at him, her face ashen. “You murdered Alexander, you murdered Malcolm to silence him, and by putting poison in the wine you murdered my baby!” She was so incensed at all the pain and suffering he had caused to both the Kennedy and Douglas clans that she rushed up the stairs ready to attack him with her bare hands, unmindful of any danger to herself.
He drew his knife with his left hand and grabbed her. His lips were drawn back from his teeth, his face as contorted as his body. “If I couldn’t have ye, I wasn’t going tae let that arrogant swine Hotspur have ye! He already snatched my title from me!”
Black Ram Douglas rode at the head of his moss-troopers on their way to Stirling. The pace he set was punishing, but his men-at-arms knew better than to protest when their leader was in one of his murderous moods.
Some of the blinding, bloodred mist had cleared from his brain in the bitter cold air, but as his temper cooled, an icy hand gripped his heart. The ghostly specter of Alexander Douglas rode pillion with him.
“Turn back, turn back, man! Valentina is in danger!” urged Alex.
