Legends by Deborah Smith Read Free Book Online

treadle had been as hypnotizing as a metronome. Douglas had lain on the bed on his stomach, facing her, too stubborn to start a conversation, but secretly eager to watch her as she worked.
    Occasionally she had smiled in his direction, but she seemed no more willing to discuss their outrageous situation than he was. Lulled by the sound of her spinning wheel, a full stomach, the crackling fire, and a feeling that bordered on stoic acceptance of his fate, he had fallen asleep.
    Now he ruefully patted his stomach. She was stuffing him on purpose to keep him lazy and content, like a fat lion caged at a zoo. Boredom and confinement would make it easy to fall into her plan. Douglas shook his head. He’d look like Orson Welles unless he got out of there soon.
And he would get out soon
.
    T. S. Audubon was probably on the verge of finding him already. Audubon was not only a longtime personal friend, but he also was the best executive-protection expert in the world.
    And what then? Douglas asked himself, frowning. Capture Gold-eyes and her cronies? Definitely. Find out the true nature of their scheme? Certainly. Try to have the whole bunch extradited to America and send them to prison for the rest of their Scottish lives? He hesitated.
    Out of bed now and moving restlessly around the small cell, Douglas wondered if it was foolish to be swayed by the MacRoth woman’s story about ancestral homes and desperate tenants. But there was a sincerity about her, an uncluttered idealism, that disturbed him. Was he really going to hurt people by buying the estate? Did it mean more to them than he realized?
    He shook his head. He had not built a three-billion-dollar fortune by being indecisive and soft hearted. His father had been both, and had suffered for it. In business Douglas had established a reputation for generosity, honesty, and superb management, but also for toughness. No matter how much Gold-eyes intrigued him, he wouldn’t give her what she wanted, and he wouldn’t let her get away scot-free.
    Douglas corrected himself grimly. Scot-free.
    Elgiva walked against the cold January wind, her head bowed and her hooded cape held tight against her body. Several miles from the cottage, after crossing ridges and woodland, she came to the shores of Loch Talrigh. The northern tip of the great inlandlake was surrounded by steep mountains covered with firs. The air was calm; the mountains held the wind at bay. The water was deep and so black that it had a purple tint.
    In the center was a craggy island. And on the island, nearly consuming every foot of the rock, were the ruins of Castle Talrigh. Elgiva tossed her hood back and stood on the shore studying the mighty old place. Then she searched the water’s edge and, after a moment of careful exploration with the toes of her rubber boots, found the stone causeway a few inches under the water.
    The walk across to the castle took a long time, because the ancient causeway zigzagged and one had to look carefully to find its path. Many a warrior had discovered himself and his horse swimming in the loch while the castle’s defenders rained arrows or, later, musket fire on him. Many of her own ancestors had died that way, in fact.
    When she reached the brooding fortress she went into a crumbling courtyard and sat down on a pile of stone blocks. The winter sun cast long shadows. She had come here to think about Douglas, but she didn’t have much time before dark.
    Yes, she decided finally, this place was where she should begin his education. She’d show him photographs and try to condense seven hundred years of Kincaid history into a pretty little package that wouldn’t bore him. After she set him free perhaps he’d care enough to come here and see
his
ancestral home firsthand.
    Perhaps the majesty of it would touch him as nothing else could, and he’d understand why she’d taken him prisoner to preserve her own heritage. Then again, after he learned what it meant to be a Kincaid, he might seek