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

‘er mischief. The Major was fit to be tied though. Fact is ‘ee was tied, the way she’d sewn up ‘is sleeves.” He showed them his master’s shirt. “Looks like the mite ain’t payin’ much mind to ‘er stitchery lessons, Daisy,” he teased.

“Anne did this?” Kate asked, knowing even as she examined the childish seam that there could be no other explanation. “My daughter’s escapades seem to be getting out of hand.”

“Said as much to me, ‘ee did, the Major, afore ‘ee went after ‘er,” Fred agreed.

“Duncan went after her?” The shirt slipped from Kate’s fingers to the floor. Anne did not seem to fear Duncan. In fact, Kate had taken those small tricks that the child had played upon him as a sign of encouraging progress. However, a private confrontation with an angry man might very well destroy the precarious peace that Anne had achieved.

“Aye, ‘ee did,” the Cockney said, scooping up the linen and eying the dirt upon it with a cluck of dismay. “I ‘ave to wash it again, now, I will.”

“Stop your complainin’ and tell her whereabouts the two of them went,” Daisy demanded.

“Well now, I dunno.” The man scratched his head. “Seems to me this is betwixt the two of them. Ain’t a lot that’s been done about the matter of ‘er pranks till now. Except maybe to wag a finger and say ‘for shame!’”

“Fred, please! There is a great deal about Anne that you and Duncan simply do not understand,” Kate pleaded.

The urgency in her voice brought a reluctant answer. “Out past the gardens,” Fred told her. “Seen the Major goin’ beyond the stables, from up top of the roof. Can’t say where they went beyond that.”

“Bless you, Fred,” Kate said as she ran out the door.

“Biscuits for you, today,” Daisy promised, giving him a kiss on his grizzled cheek, “and gravy.”

“Might as well ‘and me thirty pieces of silver while you’re about it,” Fred grumbled. But he was whistling happily as he went back to mount the roof and watch until Kate had disappeared from sight.

. . .

Kate had no difficulty following their direction since neither Anne nor Duncan had made any effort at concealment. The ground, moist from a recent rain, showed the clear imprints of small toes, boots and paws jumbling together. The mere thought of Anne confronting a belligerent Duncan made Kate’s feet fly. But it was the first wild shriek that gave her wings. Then another scream followed close upon it.

It was Anne, her yell punctuated by Cur’s frenetic yips. What had Duncan said to Anne, done to her, that could evoke that awful noise? Though she knew it preposterous, loathsome memories slithered into her mind, the fears still fresh enough to set her heart pounding. Impossible though it might be that history was becoming the stuff of the present, the sound drew her down, pulling her into a dark vortex of fear.

As she ran those last yards, time slipped away and Kate was travelling down the long, shadowed corridors of Steele House, treading the darkened stairs up to the nursery.

Kate burst into the clearing like a fury, her heart beating a wild tattoo as she raised her hand, ready to strike. How the knife had gotten into her grip, she did not recall, but the cold steel was there, solid and reassuring. She would not fail, she vowed, not again. But the scene that confronted her was totally unlike the one that she had imagined.

“I would ask you, Anne, not to use my beard as reins, if you please, or else you may find that your mount will bolt,” Duncan said, giving his broad shoulders a demonstrative shake. It was not nearly enough to dislodge the delighted young miss perched upon his shoulders, but it was sufficient to send her into another volley of transported squeals.

He whirled about, neighing and pawing the ground like a rambunctious steed, all the while keeping a careful hold on the fragile burden above him. Anne clutched him tightly, screaming loudly enough to make him wince, but the rain of giggles in his ears that followed was more than adequate balm for his pain.

Then, abruptly, that chortling sound ceased. Duncan looked up from his equine play and saw Kate, her eyes unnaturally wide, as if she had seen something unspeakable, her countenance contorted with fear and rage. “Kate?” All at once Duncan recalled where he had seen a similar expression. She had the glazed look of a soldier in the midst of a melee, that air of uncertainty when friend and foe were all as one. “Kate?” The blood drained from her face as she hastily lowered her hand into the pocket of her skirt, but not before he saw the flash of steel.

“We shall continue the ride later,” he promised, gently setting Anne upon the ground. “Your Mamma seems to be somewhat upset. Shall we see what’s troubling her?”

Anne ran to her mother, grasping her limp hand.

Kate tried to find a reserve of strength, but that rush of fear had utterly drained her. She gave the girl a weak smile and to her surprise, Anne looked to Duncan.

“There’s nae need to worry, lassie,” Duncan said, according the girl a nod that seemed to satisfy some unspoken question, before coming to stand before Kate. “All the noise that we were making got your poor mother alarmed, I suspect. She must have been thinking that all the ghoulies and ghosties from here to Glen Torridon were after her little Anne. Have I the right of it, Kate?”

“Indeed, ghoulies, ghosties and beasties too.” Kate drew spirit from that steady supportive gaze and managed a pallid affirmation. She knew that she had to explain somehow, try to make him understand why she had come charging in literally with dagger drawn, but not with Anne present. “In truth, I came to speak with you, Anne, for I am most upset by your behavior. Why ever have you been playing such nasty tricks on Lord MacLean?