The seaman’s face was still swollen. David had probably cost the fellow a number of teeth.

  “MacDonald, I’ll have no more of your mad cries on board my ship!” Peg Leg roared. “See to him, men.”

  Again, David fought. In the end, he was too weak to face so many men. He found himself dragged up, still naked, bound to the center post in the hold.

  And the threat of the twenty lashes with the cat-o’-nine-tails was carried out. The man with the swollen face was to carry out the punishment, but even he paused, voicing a protest to Peg Leg. “’E’s half-dead, now, Cap’n. Twenty lashes will kill him.”

  “He stands tall as an oak, and he’s muscled like a fighter. He used that strength against the innocent. God will judge him. If he dies, so be it, but I’ll watch each strike—he’s a fine one for work in Sydney, and worth more to me alive than dead. Carry on.”

  Each lash bit cruelly into David’s flesh. In his weakened state, the pain was unbearable. He blacked out before it was over.

  He came to with the little man by his side, staring at him sorrowfully. “Your name is Collum MacDonald,” the little man warned. “Ach, sir! Be you the laird’s issue in truth, you’d best forget it for now. Captain Barnes will kill you like as not if you give him more reason! Work the sails, scrub the decks as he commands you. Live to tell your story where someone might care to hear it!”

  “I am David Douglas, eldest son and heir to the laird of Castle Rock, Craig Rock, the Highlands,” David insisted.

  “Fine, man, and I’ll believe you. But if you’ve a mind for livin’, answer to the name ‘MacDonald,’ sir. And try to eat this broth. Something’s got to keep you going. They’ll be draggin’ you up to work soon enough.”

  David stared at the little man and frowned.

  “Who the bloody hell are you, and why do you care, man?”

  The jackanapes smiled. “Once upon a time, I was Dr. James McGregor of High Street, Glasgow. But that was before a great man’s mistress chose to abort his child, then come for my help. She died as I tried to staunch the flow of blood pouring from her womb. The great man let the courts convict me, but the mercy of a judge sent me aboard this ship rather than straight to the hangman. Now, sir, they’d not believe my story, and they’ll not believe yours.”

  “Doctor,” he mused.

  “They call me murderer now.”

  David stared at the little man, and at last saw the wisdom in his words.

  “I am MacDonald, eh?”

  “Aye, that I beg of you.”

  David shrugged. “Not a bad clan as clans go. Even good families must throw out a bad egg now and then, eh?”

  “MacDonald. A good enough name to live by if you’d seek to retrieve your own.”

  Indeed.

  There was but one way for him to find justice and vengeance, and that was to survive. His rage against what had happened, against her and those who had conspired with her, would not help him now.

  Had he been supposed to die?

  But he had not perished.

  Yet it did not seem that he had lived.

  He had found hell on earth.

  But he was going to survive it. He was going to survive it because he was going to go back. Find out who had sought to kill him, and who was buried in his stead. Discover what evil cunning and conspiracy had brought him to this pit of eternal fire.

  And he was going to enter her life again.

  And God help him…

  She would have all the fury of hell to pay, and he would see to it that they were damned together.

  David awoke with a start. He was no longer aboard a ship, nor was he any man’s prisoner. He had found his freedom, and he was back in his room at Castle Rock.

  In his own bed.

  He looked quickly to the floor. She slept.

  All those years…

  All those years he had waited to come back, and she had been both the focus of his revenge and the spirit that plagued his sleep, for though he longed for his revenge, he had found himself simply longing for her as well. Her scent had haunted him in the night. Memories of the satin-smooth feel of her flesh had come to him in the darkness, along with those of the soft brush of her hair against his limbs. And now…

  He still longed both to hold her tenderly and to shake her. When she had been younger, he had cared for her as an unruly, headstrong, beautiful child.

  When she had grown and matured, he had desired her.

  Aye, he had wanted her, therein had lain his weakness, and therein now lay his thirst for revenge.

  Yet again, it was Shawna twisting his heart and senses and reason.

  He rose from the bed and walked to where she slept now upon the cold stone of the castle floor. He gently picked her up and laid her upon the bed.

  And because he could not help himself, he gently placed his lips against her mouth and there tasted her sweetness with the breath of his kiss.

  Fool! he charged himself.

  And he departed the room in the same manner by which he had come.

  CHAPTER 8

  Shawna sat in the office, scrupulously going over each individual set of books kept for both estates. As far as she could tell, not a single shilling had been miscounted since the day David Douglas—or the charred corpse that had supposedly been David Douglas—had been buried.

  She sighed, setting down the books, rising, stretching, looking out of the large window that was so similar to the one in her bedroom. Steps led to it, and beyond it was a stone balcony. The balconies naturally offered a fine method of defense for the castle, but to the best of her knowledge, they’d never been used so, for in the days when feudal wars had plagued the Highlands, the outer walls had stood strong against any attempted invasion.

  She frowned, staring at the window, hoping it would give her some insight as to how David was coming and going from her room.

  Since she had awakened the second morning after his arrival—back in the bed—three days had passed.

  Tense days for her.

  She continually waited for him to appear.

  He did not.

  Yet she knew he came at night. Very late, she thought. She would find some subtle reminder that he was near.

  The first morning, she found a bunch of wildflowers lying by her pillow. The second morning, the pillow by her head was indented, and she realized that he had lain beside her the night before, leaving behind a small, beautifully wrought Celtic cross on a delicate chain, a Douglas family heirloom, she was certain. The third morning, she found a delicate silk handkerchief—along with an empty brandy glass which sat upon the old trunk at the foot of the bed.

  She wondered about the gifts, half-tempted to throw them one and all in the fire.

  But he had left them for her. To taunt her, perhaps. No matter, she wore the cross, kept the flowers by her pillow and the handkerchief in her pocket.

  It infuriated her that she found herself so pathetically unnerved and unable to sleep—then unable to awaken when he made his irritating appearances.

  He was about, somewhere during the day, she knew. She was quite certain that he was slipping in and out of the office here as well as at the stables and the mines. He could probably even come and go from Castle MacGinnis as he chose, though she had never heard of secret passages within her own family’s home.

  But what was he doing? What was he discovering?

  She realized that although she was angered by his easy movements and although she dreaded their encounters in which he insisted on blaming her family for the evil afoot, she was anxious to see him again.

  She didn’t want to long to see him.

  But she did. In the most curious manner, she ached. He was in her thoughts day and night.

  She heard footsteps coming hard and fast up the stairway to the second floor, and she spun away from the balcony, looking toward the office door as it was flung open. Alistair stood there, his handsome face completely free of any hint of a mischievous smile.

  “There’s been an accident. At the mine,” he told her.

  She walked quickly to him, ready to pass him to reach the stairway. “My god, what happened? How many men are down?”

  “The men…”

  “What? Tell me, Alistair, please?”

  “There are three men in the shaft, but the others are already digging for them. They’ve done a good job, and we’re going to reach the men.”

  “There’s more, Alistair, tell me!”

  “Daniel was searching a passageway.”

  “Daniel!” she gasped.

  “The little Anderson fellow.”

  “Oh god!” she cried. Turning swiftly, she went flying down the stairway.

  Just outside the main doors, Alistair caught up with her. He took her firmly by the shoulders. “The horses are here. We’re ready to ride. But you must get hold of yourself. It will do the lad no good if you kill yourself on your way to reach him!”

  She nodded numbly, then mounted up swiftly. She was somewhat in control again, and Alistair knew that she was an exceptional rider. The two of them streaked over the hills, valleys, and fields like bolts of lightning. Twenty feet from the mine entrance, Shawna leaped from her horse and went racing to it. Mark Menzies caught her at the entry.

  “Lowell, Gawain, Alaric, and Aidan are within, m’lady. Ye cannot dig, as the men can.”

  “Where’s the lad, Mark?”

  “Still within, they’re trying to reach him.”

  Alistair passed by her, hurrying to the entry.

  “Keep her out, Mark. Let her comfort the wives if the men do not make it,” he said firmly.

  Shawna let her cousin go, then she looked to Mark.

  “Mark, let me pass.”

  “M’lady—”

  “You must let me pass,” she said firmly.

  Reluctantly, he let her go. Shawna raced on into the shaft, where lanterns provided an eerie light. Aidan, covered in coal dust and supporting a completely blackened man, was coming from the shaft.

  “Shawna, take yourself out of here!” he commanded. “We’ve opened the shaft. We’re getting the men.”

  “The boy?” she inquired.

  The blackened miner who had been caught in the cave-in shook his head. “Not yet,’ees in a natural shaft we’ve not taken to yet.”

  “Oh god!” Shawna breathed. She ignored Aidan and the miner, moving deeper into the eerie light and darkness of the shaft. Men were working with support beams. Each of them called to her. She ignored them until she came to the place where the men had been working. Now, they dug, her kilted uncles tearing at the coal with a strength to match that of any man there.

  There was a cry as they dug through to free another man. “Me leg!” the miner cried.

  “I’ve got him,” she heard her cousin Alaric say, hunkering down to pick up the man in his arms as the fellow groaned, but cleared the coal around him.

  Wiping his blackened brow, Gawain turned and saw Shawna. “For God’s sake, lass, are you seeking death? Alistair, I said to take her outside⁠—”

  “And I left her outside, Father. She’s a stubborn wench, and you know it.”

  “Get your cousin out—” Lowell began.

  “Nay, I’m here now,” Shawna pleaded. “Where’s the boy?”

  “Back in there,” a voice croaked.

  “Angus—where are you?” Alistair demanded.

  “Here!”

  Alistair and Lowell crawled to where the last of the trapped miners still lay beneath a mound of rock and coal. “We’ve got you, man!” Alistair assured him.

  All of the men were safe.

  But a child remained.

  Shawna crawled over the dirt and rock and coal to a tiny, incredibly narrow shaft above the spot where the last of the buried miners had been caught.

  The men could not explore such places. Only children could do so.

  And women.

  She was slim enough to manage the space, she thought. Instinctively, she started to crawl into it. She was dimly aware of her great-uncle Gawain swearing from behind her.

  “Daniel?” she called softly. She shouldn’t shout. She knew that the shaft would be vulnerable now to whatever had caused the cave-in that had plagued the larger tunnel.

  “Shawna, get out of there!” Gawain demanded.

  “Daniel…Danny? Are you there?”

  She heard a soft whimpering sound. Oh god, the boy sounded so very far away!

  “Danny, it’s Lady Shawna. Can you hear me? I know that you must be very frightened. We’re going to get to you. If you could talk to me, it would help. Are you there?”

  She heard a whimpering again and then a soft, “Aye!”

  “I’m going to reach you…”

  “Y’cannot,” the little boy said.

  “Why?”

  “A—rock fell. A big rock.”

  “We’re going to move the rock.”

  She heard the whimpering again. The soft cry of a child, a little boy. But then she heard words with soft resolve. “Don’t come. You’ll get caught, too.”

  “Daniel, I’m not leaving you in there.”

  She wasn’t going to leave him. But there was suddenly a firm tug on her ankles, and she heard her great-uncle’s angry voice. “Shawna, get out of there. I care not if you’re the lady. I’ll wrench you out over my knee if you do not choose to obey me before the whole of this place falls! The walls must be shored up, you know nothing of mining⁠—”

  “I know this child will smother if we don’t get him out!”

  Her own words died away. She gritted her teeth and pulled hard against the rocks in the shaft floor, dragging her ankles out of his reach.

  She heard Gawain swear vociferously.

  Then, as the sound of his voice faded, she went still, because the little boy was talking. To someone else.

  “Aye!”

  To her amazement, she heard childish laughter and again another, “Aye!”

  “Danny?” she whispered.

  “I’ll ride the beastie!” she heard.

  “No, no, Danny, listen to me.”

  “Can y’not hear the water?”

  “Danny!” she cried with alarm. She heard his laughter again, fading away. Then it did seem that she heard a lap of water against rock.

  “Danny!” she cried. “Danny!”

  No answer. The boy was gone. He had been deluded in the darkness. He had gone mad from lack of oxygen. He had crawled farther into the shaft, he had fallen into some kind of an underground waterway, and he was…

  “No, no, oh god, no!” she cried. Then she gasped. Someone had come behind her.

  “Leave me!” she cried, fighting the hold upon her. “Danny!” she cried again. “Danny?”

  Still no answer. Nothing. Nothing at all.

  She was firmly tugged upon. Still, she fought to free herself. To no avail. Someone had a solid hold of her ankles, and she was being dragged from the shaft.

  “Danny! Answer me!”

  But there was no answer, and time was against her. Seconds passed, minutes.

  “Danny, Danny, Danny, please.”

  She was ever more firmly gripped. Black coal, ragged, rocky dirt dragged and tore at her. She was barely aware of it. She was in tears when she found herself falling back onto a pile of pure coal, freed from the shaft. She was pulled up.

  She looked into the pitch-black of Alistair’s face, dimly recognizing her cousin only because of the startling blue of his eyes.

  “The boy…” she whispered.

  “Shhh…” he said, holding her against him.

  Suddenly, they became aware of shouts from outside the tunnels, muffled as they entered into their underground world.

  “What now?” Shawna heard the gruff demand come from Gawain.

  “Alistair—” Lowell began.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got my cousin,” Alistair said.

  “We can’t just leave!” she protested.

  “Shawna,” Alistair said, “we can do no more.” He started forcing her along the pathway. They had barely left the caved-in area of the shaft before one of the miners hurried up to them. “Come out, come out, quickly now. The boy is outside. Sweet Jesus, little Danny Anderson is just outside the shaft.”

  “What?” Gawain thundered. “’Tis true, he’s outside. The wee lad is alive.”

  “How?” Shawna breathed.

  “God alone knows,” the miner said. “For ’tis sure, there’s not a one of us can tell!”

  Shawna tore out of the cave. Mark Menzies, as coal blackened as the rest of them, was kneeling down in the grass, a distance from the shaft, with the boy, while he was surrounded in an outer circle by miners and their families. A blanket had been placed around Danny, and his little face was smudged beyond recognition. His dark hair was soaked and plastered to his head. Shawna went running to the pair in the deep grasses, falling to her knees before the child, lifting his hair from his forehead to study his enormous blue eyes. “Danny, Danny…you are alive!” Impulsively, she hugged him tightly, then managed to sit back again, studying him. “Danny, how did you get out?”

  “The beastie,” Danny said solemnly.

  A cup was pressed against Shawna’s hands. Someone had brought warm, milk-laden tea. She forced it to the little boy’s lips, which were almost as blue as his eyes. He sipped the warm tea and his shivering somewhat subsided while his eyes remained on Shawna.

  She was suddenly determined the boy wasn’t going back into the mines. She didn’t give a damn what happened in the rest of Scotland, Great Britain, or the world at large. They would be sending no more children into the mines at Craig Rock.

  He finished the tea, returning the cup to her. Shawna looked up as a hand reached down to take the cup from her. Gena Anderson was standing there by her side, looking down at her and the boy solemnly. Shawna felt a twinge of guilt. The boy was supposedly one of Gena’s own brood of sisters and brothers, a child of Fergus and Charity Anderson, but Shawna was convinced that Gena was actually the child’s mother. She should step away and let Gena take the little boy into her arms to comfort him, but Gena didn’t seem to mind the attention she paid him.

  “Danny, lad. What beastie was this that could pluck you from the tunnel?” Mark Menzies asked.