The Devil’s Due by Boucher, Rita (short books for teens .txt) 📕

did not disturb him half so much as the expression in the child's eyes when she caught sight of him. Just as it had the night before, the stark fear in those pools of green cut him to the marrow. It was clear that her mother, as an adult, was able to mask her revulsion. But the girl's horrified countenance was as revealing as a mirror. He was a monster now, a man whose aspect was enough to cause children to quake in terror.

With a choked sound, Duncan turned away. "You need not worry for the lass, Kate," he said, trying to keep the pain from his voice. "She need not see me at all. There's more than enough to do about this place so that I can be out of your way in the daylight hours. Tell her that the ogre will not be troubling her. I came here to be alone. I shall just follow on my original course."

Kate hesitated. Once more her feelings had changed with the capriciousness of a weathercock in the wind. He was actually offering to absent himself for Anne's sake, to consign himself to the darkness in order to avoid frightening the child. To Kate, that meant far more than any oath that the man might make. The defeated slump of MacLean's shoulders told as eloquent a tale as the slight tremor in his tones, confusing her, rousing guilt. He had come to this wreck of a place for solitude, to hole up like a wounded animal. How could she allow him to hide himself away in his own home? But it would be so much easier for you, a small voice whispered.

"I could not ask that of you, milord," Kate said, torn between her conscience and her fears. "I do not believe that it will be necessary." Briefly, she considered telling him a bit of the truth, that it was not him specifically that Anne feared, so much as any male who bore the hint of a threat. But Kate hesitated to disclose that crumb of information. MacLean was already too curious by half. She doubted he was someone who would be satisfied with a mere snatch of the whole. There would be the inevitable questions, answers that might not be credited, even if she could afford to give them.

“What's all this blatherin' about?” Daisy asked, shaking her head in puzzlement. “‘Tis the best of the daylight that we’re wastin’ and miles to go before nightfall.

“We can stay, Daisy,” Kate said, crossing the courtyard to touch her on the shoulder. “His lordship has given us leave to remain.”

“And what’s the devil demanding as his due?” The older woman asked her brow beetling with indignation. “Same as last night? If it were, than ‘tis best that we take ourselves away from here, I’d say.”

“No, Daisy,” Kate began to explain, shaking her head. “He-”

“Think upon it, my lamb,” Daisy pleaded, putting her hand on her mistress’ arm. “Time comes when you got to be considerin’ of your own self. It ain’t right, even for little Anne’s sake. Think upon what manner of man he is to be forcin’ you to this pass. They say in the village that there’s a curse upon them, The MacLeans; with good reason, seems to me. ‘The sins of the fathers,’ the Bible tells us-”

“I will leave you to finish your sermon,” Duncan said, his teeth clenched tight. “If you find you wish to remain after contemplating my illustrious sire’s wrongdoings, my man and I will take our evening meal after the child is abed. If not. . .” He reached down and dug into his saddlebag, pulling out the purse that Dewey had given to him. The leather bag flew from his hand with all the force of Duncan’s frustration behind it. With a clinking thud, the drawstring burst open upon the flagstones, spilling its golden contents at Kate’s feet. “This will more than suffice for the value of the livestock and whatever repairs you have made. Take it and leave me in peace.”

He was about to walk away when he heard a burst of barking. Instinctively, Duncan turned.

“How’d he get loose?” the maid asked, lunging to grab at the streak of fur but the dog slipped past. “Cur, come, Cur,” she called in vain.

Duncan raised a shielding hand to his throat, warding off the attack that never came. The dog stopped just short of him, sniffing the air as if in puzzlement. It was not possible. Yet, even though Duncan knew full well that Piper had been long past his puppy days twenty years ago, he could not help himself. “Piper?” he asked softly, slipping to his knees. This canine had the self-same look, down to the white patch on his left flank.

With an intelligence that seemed almost human, the hound cocked his head to one side in an expression of dog disbelief. Giving throat to a whimper that was part greeting and part bewilderment, Piper’s great, great-grandson acknowledged the homecoming of Eilean Kirk’s master. Duncan felt the rough texture of the pup’s tongue against his cheek. For one brief moment, he felt like a boy again, reveling in one of the only genuine loves that he had ever known. “Piper,” he whispered, wanting to believe that this soft fur against his cheek belonged to the one creature that he had wept for all those years ago.

A small shadow blocked the light and Duncan looked up, reluctantly facing reality. Anne had obviously slipped from the servant’s grasp, but when she made a move as if to retrieve her, Kate held the woman back. The girl planted herself opposite Duncan, her hands on her hips in a gesture that made her seem like a charming miniature of her mother. With a pout, she stamped her foot.

The pup raised his head at the child’s unspoken command and then turned back to Duncan. His feathered tail wagging in agitation, the dog eyed the man and the child as